


Stay Home

by Celine_Lister



Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [2]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: COVID-19, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Smut, ridiculous set of tags right there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 132,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister
Summary: After their two-week quarantine, the Ann(e)s move in to Shibden to navigate love, family, and the global pandemic. Fluff, smut, and Lister hijinks ensue. No angst to be found here. Hopefully something to keep you distracted from the real world.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700641
Comments: 1051
Kudos: 555





	1. Monday Morning

Anne slipped back into their bedroom and studied her sleeping fiancé. The sheets wrapped around her nude form, her golden curls spread across both their pillows, her lips parted as her soft snores filled the room. Anne checked her watch, then unlaced her boots and tugged off her jeans. She crawled into bed and hovered over Ann, dipping her head to whisper in her ear.

“Wake up, Adney.”

Ann groaned and pushed her face deeper into the pillow. Anne chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“We have to leave soon if we’re going to have breakfast at Shibden.”

Ann groaned again, pulling the sheet up to her chin. 

“We have twenty minutes, darling. You can sleep, or…” Anne trailed off and pressed her lips to Ann’s jaw, then her neck.

Ann rolled onto her back, trying and failing to repress a grin. Anne bent her neck to catch Ann’s lips, dropping to her forearms and rolling her hips lightly. Ann’s hands reached into her hair, slid down the back of her neck and under the high collar of her shirt. Anne longed to savor this slow, gentle morning, but the constant clock-tick in her mind reminded her of their schedule. She ran her hand down Ann’s chest, slipping beneath the sheet separating them, and between Ann’s spread legs. She was rewarded with that perfect, breathy moan. 

“Anne.”

Anne grinned and buried her face in Ann’s neck, pressing her fingertips to Ann’s center. She shifted to straddle one of Ann’s legs, grinding her hips onto her thigh. Soon they were caught in that easy, perfect rhythm. Ann’s thigh flexed between her legs, and Anne gasped at the exquisite friction against her clit. Anne nipped at her shoulder, then slid into Ann’s warm, wet center. Ann tightened her grip around Anne’s neck, pulling their lips together. They moved against each other more and more frantically; Anne felt her release coiling in her gut, but she considered it a matter of principle to bring Ann over the edge first. Her thumb moved more urgently over Ann’s clit, her fingers thrusting evenly, curling to massage her inner walls. 

“Right there,” Ann gasped. “So good – you’re – fuck - you’re so good. Don’t stop.”

How could Anne deny her? Ann seized, her back arching and her fingers tightening; Anne felt the rush of her arousal on her hand as Ann mumbled and trembled. Ann’s thigh tensed with the rest of her body, and Anne ground her hips furiously. Soon she was shuddering over Ann, waves of pleasure crashing into her. Eventually, both women stilled, and Anne sat back on her heels. She checked her watch – right on schedule. 

“Were you timing us?” Ann panted, her voice incredulous.

“We only had so much time, darling,” Anne kissed her softly before standing and stepping back into her jeans. 

“You’re terrible,” Ann laughed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and stretching. 

“I thought I was” Anne mimicked Ann’s breathy pleas, “so good.”

“I should have kept sleeping,” Ann swatted her ass before kneeling to rummage through her suitcase. Anne laced up her boots and watched Ann dress – a yellow sundress, strappy sandals. 

“James and I loaded your car this morning. The rest of the staff have already left, and James will be gone by now. I reckon we’ll drive over to Shibden, have breakfast, then we can spend the afternoon moving you in.”

“Sounds perfect,” Ann was brushing her hair in the mirror, smiling at Anne’s reflection. 

“I think it’ll be nice,” Anne said, sidling up behind her. 

Ann nodded her agreement as she brushed her teeth. Anne felt almost painfully excited. She had so many things to show Ann. She was anxious to get Aunt Anne’s opinion. She had a mental list of the estate affairs she needed to check. The quarantine had been lovely, but she was itching to return to her routine. 

They made their way into the bright, spring day and to the white Range Rover Anne and James had filled with their suitcases and boxes. 

“Do you want to drive? Since it’s your car?”

“Actually,” Ann looked down at the keys in her hand, “I don’t know how.”

“Really?”

“I never got my license. Not properly. I dragged my feet about it, and then my parents died, and...” Ann trailed off with a shake of the head. 

“That works out,” Anne said gently, plucking the keys from her, “because I’m a terrible backseat driver.”

Ann smiled and they climbed in. Anne did enjoy driving, and the Walkers of course had a much nicer car than the Anne’s beat-up old Jeep. Ann’s small hand covered Anne’s on the gearshift, and Anne felt her heart swell in the now-familiar way. This normalcy, this unspoken intimacy, it still took her breath. 

“I’ll teach you to drive,” Anne said, hazarding a glance at her passenger. “If you like. Could be something to do while we’re cooped up.”

“Maybe,” Ann said softly, still toying with Anne’s fingers.

“If nothing else, we could get away from the family for a few hours. Check out the backseat,” she shot a wink at Ann, who blushed in return. 

The drive wasn’t long, and soon enough they were parked in front of shabby little Shibden. Anne eyed the old girl critically – it needed a nice pressure washing, that shutter needed replacing, had the roof always been so slanted? She climbed out of the car, hands on hips, studying. It felt suddenly rather small compared to Crow Nest. Old. Inadequate. She was compiling a list of excuses and plans for improvements, when Ann took her hand. 

“It’s lovely,” she said softly. 

How did she always know just what to say?

“You’re here!” Aunt Anne cried as she bustled out onto the gravel, Marian supporting her arm dutifully. 

Anne thought briefly of social distancing, two meters apart and all that, but she couldn’t resist. She dove into her aunt’s arms, clutching the older woman tightly to her chest. Her aunt’s joyful laugh filled her ears. She pulled away, then pressed a firm kiss to her cheek. She nodded at Marian. 

“Ann, this is my aunt and my sister,” Anne stepped back to take Ann’s hand again. “Aunt, Marian, this is Ann Walker, my fiancé.”

“You realize we’ve met her?” Marian said flatly. Anne grinned and pressed a sharp kiss to her cheek as she pulled Ann inside. She wanted to get everyone settled at the table and eating; she was suddenly ravenous. Or, perhaps, she was anxious to get her family all seated together for the first time. She tugged Ann through the house, breathing deeply to fill her lungs with Shibden’s unique scent. 

“Is breakfast ready?” Anne bellowed to no one in particular. 

“On the table,” Marian called.

Anne rounded the corner into the dining room, where her father was already sat reading the newspaper. He shuffled to his feet. 

“Hail to the chief.”

“Captain. This is my fiancé, Ann Walker. Ann, this my father, Captain Jeremy Lister.”

“Nice to see you again,” Ann managed. Her father gave a perfunctory nod, then sank back into his seat. 

Anne could sense Ann’s nervous energy, so she squeezed her hand in reassurance. Captain Lister returned to his newspaper, and Anne gave a “don’t mind him” shake of her head. She pulled out a chair for Ann and surveyed the table: toast, eggs, sausage. She hummed, as Marian and Aunt Anne caught up.

“Not much of a spread,” Anne said pointedly, fixing her gaze on Marian. 

“I think it’s lovely,” Ann offered, helping herself to a piece of toast. 

“You realize I made this all myself,” Marian had that infuriating voice on again. 

“Where’s Cordingley?” Anne buttered her toast. 

“She’s home! Everyone’s home. It’s a national lockdown,” Marian’s voice teetered dangerously close to rebuke. 

“Everyone?” Anne was surprised. She’d figured her staff would just – be here. It didn’t really occur to her that they might have personal lives, homes to go to, families to care for. 

“They say you’re so clever,” Marian chided, “but you really are quite dim sometimes.”

Ann giggled beside her, and Anne clicked her tongue. She didn’t appreciate being teased by Marian on the best day, and now she and Ann could gang up on her. Perhaps she had miscalculated.

“We’re very happy to have you home,” Aunt Anne said, “both of you.”

“We’re happy to be here,” Anne proclaimed, leaning back into her chair and placing a hand on Ann’s knee. Ann smiled as she filled both their teacups.

“What will you do today?” Aunt Anne asked. 

“Well,” Anne picked up her tea, “I thought we’d move Ann in. We have rather a lot of bags. Joseph and John can – hmmm.”

“No, they can’t.” Marian was so smug Anne could throttle her. In an act of tremendous self-control, she fiddled with her teacup instead as she considered. 

“We’ll bring everything in ourselves, settle Ann into the blue room with me.” She tapped her teacup thoughtfully. “I guess at least we’ll be saving money.”

“How do you mean?” Aunt Anne furrowed her brow.

“Since we won’t have to pay the staff for however long this goes on. The budget is already set aside, but if the staff won’t be here, we can use that money to –”

“You can’t do that,” Marian interrupted, mouth full of food. 

“Why not?” Anne rolled her eyes and filled her plate. 

“These people still have bills,” Marian lectured. “You should keep paying them. Especially if the money’s already there.”

“Who’s told you this? Where have you got this nonsense from?” Anne dug into her food, determined not to let Marian tell her what to do. Not in front of Ann.

“It’s my own opinion,” Marian shot back, “and it’s the right thing to do.”

“Father,” Anne raised her voice, “do you think we should be paying people who aren’t working?”

“What?” 

Anne rolled her eyes and swatted her hand in the air. Useless.

“Marian, there is no reason to pay people who aren’t working. A paycheck is money in return for services rendered. No services, no money.” 

“You’re being heartless. And cruel,” Marian accused. “People are dying and losing their homes and –”

“This is my estate, and I’ll do what I see –”

“No, no, no,” Aunt Anne shook her head, “girls, please –”

“This is global pandemic, Anne, you can stand to be generous for once in your life!”

“And then we’ll be out on the street, will we? I run this estate –”

“Throw that in my face again, why don’t –”

“As long as I am owner of –”

“I think Marian might have a point,” Ann’s soft voice broke in. 

Both sisters turned in unison and stared, jaws hanging. 

“Excuse me?” Anne said carefully. She breathed deeply in an attempt to rein in her frustration, to steady her heart’s angry pace. She reminded herself she was angry with Marian, not Ann. 

“I think paying your staff while they can’t work is the right thing to do. If you can afford it. I’m going to. Rents as well. Since you own the land…” Ann trailed off with a shrug.

Anne couldn’t explain the sensation washing over her– equal parts calm and surprise and relief. She lost all desire to argue; all her counterpoints shriveled and died. She knew instantly she would follow Ann’s advice. She felt only the barest edge of annoyance remaining, mostly that now she couldn’t do what she wanted. She would have to do what Ann said, not because she agreed with her, but because Ann said so. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Right, well,” Anne bit her lip. “You may have a point.”

Ann smiled at her, reaching below the table to squeeze her knee. Anne rolled her eyes with a defeated sort of chuckle. 

“Miss Walker!” Marian cried gleefully. “Oh, I think I’m going to like having you around.”


	2. Monday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking quite a few liberties with the layout of Shibden, mostly because I'm not super familiar with it. Hope it's not too confusing or distracting.

Ann was surprised by how comforting the dark wood of Shibden felt. In past visits, she had found it oppressive, overly serious, borderline depressing. Now, she felt the warmth it contained, the strength it imbued, the protection it offered. It was such a close reflection of Anne, all somber and dark tones on the surface, but soft and loving underneath. She admired the worn, faded steps as they ascended the stairs; how many generations of Listers had trudged up and down them? How many times had Anne? How many times would she?

She followed Anne down the hallway to her bedroom – their bedroom, she supposed. It was smaller than the one at Crow Nest, full of the same dark paneling as the rest of the house. Two wide windows overlooked the grounds, filling the room with warm, natural light. Her eyes swung across the room: books stacked haphazardly on the dresser, a vanity-turned-desk wedged in one corner, an old, Imperial trunk at the end of the bed. The bed was freshly made, a soft blue duvet covering it, bracketed on either side by mismatched nightstands. One was plain and bare, the other cluttered with books, pens, notepads; Ann figured out which side was Anne’s pretty quickly. There was a closed door on the right-hand wall; Ann assumed it was the bathroom. 

“Here we are,” Anne said as she set down the bags in her arms. Ann mirrored her, still taking in her surroundings. This would be their room. She felt tingly just thinking about it. 

Anne stepped to her slowly, taking both Ann’s hands and draping them over her neck. Ann snapped back into reality, and Anne’s tentative face came into focus. 

“So?” Anne drawled, taking Ann’s hips in her hands. “What do you think? Will it suit?”

“It’s great.” Ann tilted her chin, grinning into the languid kiss. 

“We can move it around, throw everything out, start from scratch – whatever you want.” 

“Let’s start with unpacking,” she pecked Anne’s lips once more and pulled away. “The closet is…?”

“Well, I don’t really have one,” Anne moved to that door on the side wall. “Through here is another bedroom, and I basically use that as my closet. The bathroom is connected to that room as well.”

Anne swung the door open, and Ann followed her into the adjoining room. It was stark, an unmade double bed along one wall, a few rows of hanging clothes along the other, two mismatched dressers nearby; an ajar door on the far wall gave way to tiled floor. Ann surveyed the room, furrowing her brow. 

“Why don’t you make this your bedroom?”

“It doesn’t have the view,” Anne shrugged. “Years ago, a couple of my ancestors used these rooms – one for the husband, one for the wife. The wife had a snoring problem, so they didn’t actually sleep together. Hence the connecting door.”

Ann shook her head in disbelief. What an odd family she’d stumbled into. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. She studied the room again; it was a rather strange set-up. Why not just have a proper closet? 

“You don’t like it,” Anne said softly. 

“No!” Ann spun around to face her; the look on Anne's face broke her heart. “No, Pony, of course I like it. It’s a bit … it’s a bit eccentric, isn’t it? But I like it! We get two bedrooms.”

“We’ll move. We can use the guest room, or the tower, or –”

Ann cut her off with a touch of her hand. She interlaced their fingers and brought their clasped hands to her chest. 

“It’s perfect. I love it. I love you. We’ll make it our own.”

Anne’s whole body sagged in relief. She pressed a kiss to the back of Ann’s hand, then turned away.

“I had Eugenie get you some clothes racks, and they’re right here. How about you start unpacking, and I’ll bring everything in from the car?”

Ann nodded, and Anne kissed the top of her head on her way out the door. She started to feel a bit queasy, like the time she’d gone on a school trip and only realized how incredibly far from home she was once the bus left. She started hanging up her clothes with shaking hands. Perhaps she had jumped the gun on this one. It was rather soon, wasn’t it? The unfamiliar walls lost their warmth; now they threatened to close in on her. She longed for the light pastels of Crow Nest. Every creak and groan unnerved her; every thump and slam spelled disaster. 

Anne brought the last of the bags, and they unpacked silently for a few minutes. Ann had just started putting her folded clothes in the blonde-wood dresser when Anne took her hand. 

“Marian said I had rather a lot of post come in. There are a few estate affairs I need to follow up on. Would you be terribly upset if I stepped down to my office for a little while?” Ann opened her mouth to protest. “I’m just down the hall. I’ll leave my door open, so if you need to find me, you won’t be knocking on strange doors and worrying about disturbing the wrong person.”

Ann considered denying her this, forcing Anne to stay and help her, confiding her anxieties, but she decided against it. She needed to get used to this house, and that was just as easily done without Anne fretting over her. She could tell it was of incredible importance to Anne that she like Shibden and be comfortable. Ann needed a bit of time to be uncomfortable in this space and adjust, and she couldn’t do that with Anne hovering over her. She nodded, and Anne kissed the back of her hand before leaving. 

Ann spent the next few hours unpacking her bags and boxes, snooping lightly through Anne’s things, and breathing deeply to stave off her anxiety. It was fine, she decided, it was the right thing. In her heart, she knew this to be true. In her mind, however, she was panicking. Living with Anne felt like a lot of pressure. Pressure to please her family. Pressure to be entertaining and interesting all hours of the day. Pressure to be tidy and neat, especially in these shared spaces. It struck Ann that she no longer had any space that belonged solely to her. 

“Knock knock!” Aunt Anne’s voice chirped into the adjoining room, underscored by the soft thump of her cane. 

Ann jumped to her feet to meet her; she found Aunt Anne stretched out quite comfortably on the bed, sitting upright against the headboard. She patted the bedspread, and Ann climbed in next to her. Aunt Anne took her hand and fixed her with a smile so genuine and warm Ann felt her anxiety fade. It didn’t disappear, but at least she could breathe evenly. 

“How are you, my dear?”

“Oh, fine,” Ann nodded with a weak smile.

“Wrong,” Aunt Anne shook her head. “Be honest.”

“Um,” Ann took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the wrinkled hand encompassing her own. “I’m a little overwhelmed, I guess. I don’t leave the house much, in general, so, uh, so being in a totally new place, with new people, it’s – it’s a lot.”

Aunt Anne patted her hand, her warm, soft skin enveloping Ann’s clammy hand. She nodded knowingly, but let the silence linger between them before speaking. 

“It is a lot. This house is a lot. We can be a lot. Heaven knows our Anne is a lot,” Aunt Anne chuckled, and Ann echoed her. “Please know I would do anything to make you comfortable. Anne would, too, of course, but you probably already know that.”

Ann nodded, unsure what to say. 

“She loves you a lot, you know. When she was staying with you, she would call me, and it was like she was a little girl again. She was just in awe of everything about you. She would tell me these long, detailed stories about your meals together, your conversations, the way you brush your hair, and then she’d tell me all the things she wanted to do with you – get married, travel, improve Shibden. I’ve never heard her like that. Never even close.”

Ann nodded again, the lump in her throat blocking her voice. 

“I don’t know a lot about relationships,” Aunt Anne chuckled in a self-deprecating sort of way, “but I know a lot about Anne. She would move heaven and earth for you. If something bothers you, tell her. If she doesn’t fix it, tell me,” Aunt Anne laughed, “and I’ll whip her into shape.”

“Thank you,” Ann managed. Aunt Anne squeezed her hand. 

Anne burst into the room, her sleeves rolled up, her hair pushed back by her reading glasses. Ann’s mouth went dry. 

“My two favorite people!” Anne crowed. She draped herself across the foot of the bed, taking Aunt Anne’s feet in her hands and sliding her slippers from her feet. “What are you two gossiping about?”

“None of your business, how about that?” Aunt Anne retorted. Anne squeezed her feet, then started lightly massaging them.

“Are you all unpacked, darling?” Anne asked.

“Yes, actually, I think I am.” 

“Good. Excellent. Isn’t she just the greatest?” Anne asked her aunt. 

“I knew you two would be perfect together,” Aunt Anne nodded as she spoke, turning to Ann. “When you were here with your aunt that day, I was so annoyed that one wasn’t home. You’re so quiet and kind and reasonable. A perfect contrast to our Anne.”

“Aunt!” Anne protested, “are you saying I’m not quiet or kind or reasonable?”

Aunt Anne shot Ann a knowing look. Ann giggled.

“I’m going to start regretting bringing you here if you’re going to keep getting on better with my family than I do,” Anne nudged Ann’s foot with her knee. Ann felt electricity shoot up her body. 

“Loosen up, Anne,” Aunt Anne said as she heaved herself upright, waving off all attempts at assistance. “You have a darling girl here – don’t be so greedy. I’ll go see what Marian has in mind for dinner, hmm?” 

They watched Aunt Anne shuffle out of the room, and Anne turned her attention to Ann’s feet. Her touch was light, but Ann could feel lightning traveling up her legs. 

“How are you?” Anne asked seriously.

“Better now,” Ann smiled. “I was a bit overwhelmed at first, but I feel better now. And I had a good chat with your aunt. Though I was a bit annoyed when you came in here and put your hands on her instead of me.”

“I knew if I put my hands on you,” Anne drawled, sliding her hands up Ann’s calves, “I wouldn’t be able to stop.” 

Ann grinned as Anne crawled up her body slowly, hovering her for a moment before dipping to catch her lips. They kissed slowly for a beat, before Anne scrambled out of bed to shut the door. Ann reminded herself she’d have to get used to having other people around. 

Anne settled back on top of her, kissing her deeply. Ann’s hands tangled in her hair, pulling those glasses off and tossing them onto the nightstand. Anne’s dark hair surrounded their faces like a curtain. A small part of Ann’s brain compared Anne’s dark hair to the dark walls of Shibden, but the vast majority her brain was consumed by the meticulous, purposeful assault of Anne’s lips against hers. Ann moaned softly into Anne’s mouth; she was rewarded with a nip against her bottom lip. All her earlier worries drifted away; it was worth it – all of it, everything, anything – for the feeling of Anne’s lips on hers. 

Anne shifted to bring one hand down to her knee, sliding up her thigh, under her dress, then caressing her hipbone just above the waistline of her panties. Ann rolled her hips gently and reached one arm to wrap around Anne’s back and pull her closer. Anne’s warm fingertips teased her with feather-light circles, until Ann thought she might go crazy from need. 

“Pony, please,” she whispered, pressing her hips more urgently into Anne’s stomach. 

“Patience, darling girl,” Anne purred. “This is our first time in Shibden – it’s got to be special.”

Ann groaned, but she relaxed into it. She let Anne tease her hip, her belly, the elastic at the top of her panties; her maddening fingers never dipped lower. Anne continued her careful, precise kisses, her lips sliding perfectly over Ann’s, her tongue slipping in and out expertly. Ann felt her arousal pool between her legs, threatening to drown her. Finally, Anne took pity on her, dipping her hand into Ann’s panties to tease her even more. Her long fingers drew a path through her arousal, tracing impossibly light strokes against her aching core. Ann lost all coherent thought; she arched her neck and pressed the crown of her head into the pillow, unable to meet Anne’s relentless lips, so Anne moved to her neck, her jaw, her chin. Anne had just started to press firm, slow circles into her clit when there was a knock at the door. 

“Go away,” Anne growled, though her hand never faltered. 

Ann was too lost in her own desire to process what was happening. 

“It’s important,” Marian’s tired voice called through the door. 

“I’m busy,” Anne called gruffly, her hand speeding up between Ann’s legs, pressing her clit harder. Ann whimpered below her and cast her eyes to the door. 

“Do you want to stop?” Anne whispered in her ear. 

“No,” Ann breathed, shaking her head and clutching Anne tighter. “I think I’ll die if you stop.”

“Then be quiet,” Anne grinned into her neck, her hand moving more insistently against the hard bundle of Ann’s desire. 

“It’s about dinner,” Marian sighed loudly. 

“Do what you like,” Anne called over her shoulder, panting lightly. 

Ann pulled Anne’s arm impossibly closer. She could feel her release building; she was almost there. 

“We can’t decide between pizza,” Marian called, “and curry.”

“Whatever you want,” Anne was now panting in earnest.

Ann’s fingers dug into Anne’s skin, her hips rutting against Anne’s hand in desperation. 

“I think I’d like curry,” Marian said thoughtfully. “Does that sound okay?”

Anne’s fingertips strummed Ann’s clit faster, her lips trailing wet kisses across her jaw. Ann felt that familiar rush of warmth consume her as her body went taut. 

“Yes!” Ann gasped as the first wave of pleasure crested over her. 

Anne’s teeth sunk into her neck, her hand coaxing her through her orgasm. Ann collapsed back into the bed, spent.

“Perfect. Thank you, Miss Walker,” Marian said, “I’ll go ahead and order.”

Anne and Ann shared a terrified, gleeful look as they listened to Marian’s footsteps recede, then they burst out laughing. Anne rolled onto her back next to Ann, tears rolling down her cheeks as her chest heaved with joy. 

“Oh my God, Pony,” Ann whined. “I can’t believe we just –”

“That’s certainly one way to make it special,” Anne laughed, wiping her eyes. 

Ann smacked her on the belly. Anne grabbed her hand and pulled her into her arms, kissing her soundly. Ann melted into the embrace. She could be absolutely sure of one thing: living at Shibden would be an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please know your comments and kudos mean the world, and I appreciate any and all feedback. I'm terrible at responding to comments, but I am working on it!


	3. Monday Night

After dinner Anne once again found herself caught between the love of her life and the bane of her existence. She fiddled with her wineglass as she watched them, thick as thieves. Ann was cuddled up against Argus on the floor, lavishing the old boy with attention. Marian was perched on the seat above her, leaning down to share quiet conversation and occasionally looking up at Anne. Aunt Anne and the Captain were dozing in their matching recliners. Anne tapped her heel impatiently; this was not exactly how she pictured her evening hour. 

“Tuft-hunter?” Ann asked, shock coloring her voice and her cheeks. 

“Ask Anne,” Marian laughed and leaned back, waggling an eyebrow at her sister. 

Anne rolled her eyes and tilted her glass back. Marian knew every one of her buttons, but did she really have to push them all at once?

“Darling,” Ann said sweetly, “why did people call you a tuft-hunter?”

“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, my love: don’t believe everything my sister tells you.”

“What!” Marian laughed. “Isabella Norcliffe told me people used to call you that.”

“Marian,” Anne sighed, “you can’t listen to what Tib says. She’s out of her mind.”

“Tib is the one who…” Ann trailed off, looking to Anne.

“Tib is my friend with the drinking problem, yes.” Anne nodded, reaching for the near-empty bottle of wine for dinner. She filled her glass. 

“Tib is actually a lot of fun,” Marian said to Ann. “She’s great for a night out when you want to drink too much and go dancing and lose your credit card.”

“Who would want to do that, Marian? It’s ridiculous.”

Ann giggled and shook her head, turning her attention back to Argus. 

“Anne, why didn’t you tell me you had such a lovely puppy?” 

“He’s not a puppy,” Anne rolled her eyes; “he’s a lazy bum. A freeloader. He’s supposed to be a working dog, and all he does is lay on that rug and beg for someone to pet him.”

“Good thing I’m here then,” Ann said seriously to the dog, “I’m prepared to give you all the scratches you need and deserve.”

Anne felt a surge of affection for her little woman. She was so light-hearted and kind and gentle and funny and all the things Anne was not. She felt her dark mood lifting as the clock struck ten. Marian stood. 

“Alright, you two,” she said loudly, clapping her hands over the snoring pair. “Time for bed.”

Aunt Anne and Jeremy stirred, bleary-eyed, and trundled up to bed. Marian followed. Ann turned to Anne, still rubbing Argus’s wiry coat. 

“What now?” She had that mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Come here,” Anne husked, draining her glass. 

Warmth suffused her body, both from the wine and the look on Ann’s face. Ann gave Argus a parting kiss on the snout before rising to her feet and sauntering to stand in front of Anne. Anne studied her for a moment, then yanked her down to straddle her lap. Ann giggled brightly, wrapping one arm around Anne’s neck, the other tracing the collar of her shirt. 

“I like your family,” Ann said softly. 

“I don’t like having to share you with them,” Anne whispered before catching Ann’s lips in a slow, searching kiss. She gripped Ann’s waist tightly in one hand and cupping her cheek with the other, as Ann’s hand fisted in the front of her shirt. 

“You never answered my question,” Ann teased as she pulled away. 

“What was that?”

“Why did people call you a tuft-hunter? What does that even mean?”

Anne laughed and made a mental note to box Tib about the ears the next time she saw her. Telling Marian that, of all people. She ran her hand up Ann’s warm thigh, under the hem of her skirt, tracing over the lace on her hip. 

“When I was younger, Miss Walker, I used to be quite a rascal. I was always looking for the next pretty girl I could get in my lap. I was on the hunt, if you will.” Anne slid her hand over to cup her lace-clad mound. “Do you see what I mean?”

Ann was breathless as she nodded; her eyes impossibly wide. Anne massaged her center over her panties and pressed their lips together in a searing kiss. She could feel Ann’s arousal building as they kissed, her own fire burning in her belly. Ann broke away, panting. 

“Take me upstairs.”

Anne considered carrying Ann to their room, but she worried Marian wasn’t asleep yet. Not that she needed to justify her actions to Marian. She just didn’t think Ann would appreciate it. That’s it. It wasn’t shyness or residual adolescent fear of being caught. It was for Ann. 

She tipped Ann out of her lap playfully, and they ascended the stairs hand-in-hand. Anne opened the door and ushered Ann inside, closing and locking the door behind her. Ann sat on the side of the bed, an inviting expression on her face. Anne thought of her that evening, so cozy and confidential with Marian. She headed to the bathroom, unbuttoning her shirt as she went. 

“You know, I’m a bit cross with you, Adney,” she called over her shoulder. 

“What for?” She could hear Ann trot across the extra bedroom before she appeared in the mirror behind her. 

“You seem to be interested in every Lister except me,” Anne gave a lofty pout as she slipped out of her jeans. She grabbed a pair of faded joggers and stepped into them. “I even saw you laughing with my father at dinner, though you hardly gave me a second glance.”

“Pony,” Ann whined, “I’m just trying to make a good impression.”

Anne clicked her tongue and pulled of her bra, tugging a ratty t-shirt over her head. She grabbed her toothbrush, wanting Ann to have to work a little harder for it. 

“Come on,” Ann ran her cool hands under Anne’s shirt, over her firm stomach. “I just want them to like me.” 

Anne leaned into the smaller woman behind her as she brushed her teeth. She took a mental snapshot of this moment; surely this was everything she had ever wanted – the woman she loved wrapped around her, at Shibden, in this banal, domestic moment. Ann trailed kisses over her shoulder, up her neck, behind her ear. Anne bent to spit.

“You’re not really cross, are you?” Ann narrowed her eyes, studying Anne in the mirror. Anne straightened and winked. Ann’s jaw dropped in delighted outrage, “you are a beast!”

Ann squeezed her hips lightly before stepping forward to join Anne at the sink. They prepared for bed side by side, and Anne found she couldn’t stop smiling. She was usually so busy seducing women that she didn’t get these playful, intimate moments – jockeying for space at the sink, all nudging hips and breathless laughter. Ann patted her behind cheekily as she moved to the closet. She undressed quickly, digging through the dresser for a shirt to sleep in. Anne leaned in the bathroom doorway and watched her, halfway hoping Ann wouldn’t be able to find it. She did, unfortunately, and was just tugging it over her head when Anne crashed into her. She wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, pressing their bodies flush together. Ann cried out, bringing her hands down to grip at Anne’s forearms. 

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you here,” Anne breathed in her ear. She slid one hand under Ann’s shirt and cupped her breast. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”  
Ann nodded, one hand coming behind her to tangle in the short hairs along the nape of Anne’s neck. Anne massaged her breast slowly, reveling in its perfect weight, the divine press of her nipple into her palm. She ground her hips into Ann’s backside as she slid her other hand between Ann’s legs. 

“You’re so wet,” she husked. “Shall I take you right here?” Anne traced her fingertips through Ann’s arousal. 

Ann nodded frantically, her head tilted back against Anne’s shoulder. Ann’s small hand covered Anne’s on her breast, pressing firmly. Anne grinned at her urgency, placing wet kisses along her exposed neck. She continued her slow, methodical movements until Ann’s hand shot down to her wrist, pulling her more firmly into her center. 

“My, my, Adney, you certainly are eager.”

“Please, Pony,” came the weak plea. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Anne husked into her ear before plunging two fingers into Ann’s clutching center. Their twin moans filled the room, and Anne started a sharp rhythm. Feeling Ann’s knees buckle, she pulled the younger woman closer to her chest, supporting her weight as her other hand worked furiously below. Ann’s hands clutched at her neck and her wrist, pulling Anne impossibly closer. Anne nipped at her neck and shoulder as her fingers curled in and out of Ann’s core over and over, the heel of her hand pressing at her clit with each pass. Anne grinned at the delicious burn in her arms, the satisfying familiarity of Ann’s impending release. Ann’s hips were rutting into her desperately now, feather-light whimpers escaping her lips.

“Anne,” she gasped as her body shuddered in Anne’s arms. Anne coaxed her down gently with gentle strokes and soft kisses. Ann slumped forward into the dresser, panting. “Fuck, Pony.”

“I thought I did?” Anne grinned. 

Ann wheeled around and slapped her arm playfully. Anne grabbed her hand and brought it to her lips, tugging her backward into their bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed; Ann stood between her parted legs with her arms draped lazily over Anne’s shoulders. 

“I am so happy to be here,” Ann said, toying with Anne’s hair and scratching the back of her head.

“Are you? Really and truly?” Anne searched those blue eyes for even the faintest trace of indecision. 

“Yes,” Ann said simply. Anne felt her entire future wrapped up in that perfect word.

She tilted her chin, and Anne caught her lips in a slow kiss. She tightened her hands around Ann’s waist, grounding herself in the proof of her dream becoming reality. Anne was pulling Ann closer, her arousal burning in her gut, as Ann pulled away. 

“We’ve got to get a new bed though,” Ann said before capturing her lips again. 

Ann kissed her deeply for a beat, and then pressed her gently onto her back, legs still hanging off the edge. Ann pulled away to kneel between Anne’s legs, placing a tender kiss to the inside of each knee. Her words filtered through Anne’s pleasure-soaked brain. 

“What do you mean we need a new bed?” Anne sat up sharply. There was nothing wrong with this bed. Maybe the bedspread was a little outdated, but the mattress was perfectly fine. 

“Do you know,” Ann said lowly, hooking her fingers in Anne’s joggers and boxers, “we’ve had sex three times today, and I haven’t gotten to touch you once?” 

She tugged on Anne’s bottoms; Anne leaned back on her hands to lift her hips. Ann pulled the soft cotton down around her ankles and then off. 

“What’s wrong with this bed?”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Ann was dragging her tongue along Anne’s thigh, her hands wrapping around Anne’s hips and tugging her closer to the edge of the bed. Anne tried to relax into her touch, but her mind wouldn’t comply. 

“Well, what but what is it? Is it not comfortable?” 

“Pony,” Ann’s hands ran up the inside of her thighs then back to her knees, “you’ll be sleeping in that bed alone if you don’t let it go. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Anne chuckled and laid back, closing her eyes and forcing herself to focus on Ann between her legs. Ann teased her with wet kisses and soft nips as she made her way to Anne’s center; she could feel her clit pulse with desire. She was so aroused she could barely stand it, her need for Ann pushing everything else from her mind. At the first contact of Ann’s tongue to her core, Anne’s hands shot to those blond locks, gripping Ann’s head tightly. Ann started with slow, methodical strokes along Anne’s folds, only giving the lightest flicks to her clit; Anne felt her hips rolling slowly of their own accord. She groaned at the feeling of Ann’s perfect mouth. She wanted to savor this feeling, but she felt herself hurtling for the precipice already. 

Ann’s hands came up to hold her hips lightly; even this gentle touch was enough to still Anne’s movements. Ann could control her with even the barest suggestion. Anne moaned at the thought, the power this tiny person held over her, how willing she was to do anything Ann said. Then, suddenly - her eyes shot open and she raised herself to her elbows. Ann had pulled away and was staring at her. 

“You have to be quiet,” Ann whispered urgently. 

“Ann,” she panted, “please, I –” She hadn’t realized close she was, and now she was desperate. 

“I’m serious, Pony,” Ann drummed her fingers over Anne’s hips. “I don’t want your family to -”

“Please don’t talk about my family right now,” Anne laid one hand over Ann’s and squeezed. “I’ll be quiet. I promise. Please, just…” Anne trailed off helplessly.

Ann tilted her head and studied her for a moment, as if assessing her sincerity. Finally, she smiled, pressed a kiss to Anne’s slick belly, and dove back in between her legs. Anne’s head fell back into the mattress, bringing one hand to tangle in Ann’s hair and the other in a fist between her teeth. The exquisite torture of biting back her moans and stilling her hips combined with the perfect pressure of Ann’s tongue stroking steadily her clit, launching Anne into the abyss. Her torso arched forward as her body trembled, jaw falling open in a silent cry. She let wave after wave crash into her, until she fell back, spent. Ann pulled away and crawled onto the bed next to her, tracing shapeless figures onto her t-shirt-clad chest. 

When Anne opened her eyes, Ann was smiling softly over her. Anne heaved out a sigh and grabbed Ann’s hand from her chest. For a few long moments, they laid just like that without speaking. Ann dipped her head to kiss her softly, and then Anne sat up to pull on her boxers and joggers. She retrieved her journal as Ann crawled under the covers. Anne leaned against the headboard, propping her journal against her knee, and looked over at Ann, who pressed her lips to the patch of skin peeking out at Anne’s hip. Anne felt her mind clearing as she started to write, listening to Ann’s breath even out as she drifted off. 

“Hold on,” Anne said, turning her head sharply. Ann’s eyes opened slowly. “What’s wrong with this bed?”

Ann groaned and sat up. They locked eyes for a moment, before Ann snatched her journal and tossed it onto her own nightstand. Anne’s jaw dropped open. 

“We’re going to sleep, Pony. No more talking.” Ann laid back down and turned her back to Anne. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder.

Anne snorted a laugh, but she complied, laying down and wrapping her arms around Ann’s middle. She pulled their bodies flush, filling her lungs with Ann’s scent. She allowed herself to relax; she’d done it. She finally had the woman she loved, in her bed, in her home. She’d actually done it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Beginning based on the diary entry: "vindicated myself against the appellation Isabella says people give me - of tuft-hunter" May 23, 1832. A true classic. 
> 
> I am so appreciative of your feedback; I can't even tell you. And some of y'all, I swear it's like you can read my mind. A lot of exciting things coming up (in my opinion)!


	4. Tuesday Morning

“Where’s Aunt?” Anne asked brusquely as she swept into the dining room and pecked a kiss to Ann’s cheek as she sat down. 

“Good morning to you,” Marian deadpanned. 

“Yes, good morning,” Anne waved her off. “Where’s Aunt?”

“Seems she has an upset stomach,” Ann said, admiring Anne in her element. She was fresh from her morning walk, windswept and invigorated, settling in to hold court over breakfast. She had left before Ann woke up, but Ann enjoyed seeing this side of her, stalking about her natural habitat. 

“Indigestion,” Captain Lister nodded as he buttered his toast. “That bloody curry. I was up half the night with heartburn.”

“Not a good choice, Marian,” Anne chided as she scooped the plate of bacon from Marian’s reach. 

“Ann agreed with me!” Marian protested. 

“I did nothing of the sort,” Anne said haughtily as she piled her plate high. 

“Not you,” Marian rolled her eyes. “That Ann - Little Ann – Miss Walker.”

“Little Ann?” Ann giggled, feeling her face flush.

“Littler than her,” Marian laughed. “Would you prefer Young Ann? As opposed to Old Anne.” Marian shot a doleful look at Anne, who clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“I’m sick of the both of you.”

“Well, anyway, Father, I apologize for the curry. I was sort of craving it, but I wasn’t sure. I asked Little Ann, and she said ‘yes,’ so…” Marian trailed off with a shrug. 

Ann bit her lip at the memory of her ‘conversation’ with Marian. Anne nudged her foot under the table, but Ann didn’t dare look at her. Her face was on fire. 

“We shouldn’t order in so much anyway,” Anne said. Captain Lister harrumphed his agreement. 

“I can’t cook all the time,” Marian whined. “You could cook some. I hear you did it all the time at Crow Nest.”

“I’m not cooking every meal,” Anne’s face scrunched up like she smelled something rotten. “For five people? I have work to do, Marian.”

“We could split it,” Ann offered, finally able to raise her eyes from her plate. 

“What?” Both sisters turned to her. 

“Marian, you could do breakfast. Like you have been. Which has been delicious, by the way,” Ann’s heart was racing. Why had she started talking? “And Anne and I could do dinner? I’m not much help, but – Anne is a very good cook. And then everybody makes their own lunch.”

Ann looked back and forth between three unreadable faces, wishing for nothing more than a very large hole to appear and swallow her. Captain Lister turned back to his newspaper. Marian tilted her head to the side. Then Anne smiled, grabbing her knee. 

“Wonderful idea, Adney,” she proclaimed. “Give us something to do in the evenings.”

Ann exhaled, feeling relief loosen her body. Anne started telling her father something about the estate, but Ann didn’t listen. She was still marveling at her new life, her new family. She let the comforting cadence of Anne’s voice wash over her, enjoying the reassuring volley of sisterly banter punctuated by the occasional fatherly grunt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at home. 

“Well maybe,” Marian chastised, “if you had paid attention in school –”

“I have a PhD, Marian, I have been to plenty of school!”

“Little Ann, are you aware you’re marrying a high school dropout?”

“Wh-what?” Ann sputtered. 

“I did not drop out,” Anne held up a single finger, “I was kicked out.”

Captain Lister’s chair scraped loudly as he stood. He shuffled out of the room with his newspaper. Ann tiled her head to Anne in question.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Marian explained. “It’s a touchy subject.”

“What happened?”

“I was kicked out of Ripon School for Girls in my fourth year,” Anne said sheepishly, twisting her ring around her index finger. 

Ann’s jaw fell. She tried to form words, but her voice caught in her throat. Were they kidding her?

“Really?” She breathed. 

“I couldn’t focus,” Anne laughed. “My grades were terrible. I was, uh…”

“She always chasing after some girl,” Marian waggled her eyebrows. 

“Anne!” Ann laughed and took her hand. Anne seemed embarrassed, but Ann wanted her loosen up. She toyed with her fingers, tugging lightly to get her attention. Anne turned her head, and they shared a look. Ann bit her lip, trying to encourage her silently. Anne sighed, then laughed. 

“I was always in a pickle,” she shook her head. “I never learned anything. Marian’s right. I was always talking to the girls instead of attending to my books.”

“That sounds about right,” Ann laughed. 

“They had to throw her out,” Marian cut in.

“None of the girls could focus,” Anne drawled, dragging her foot along Ann’s leg. 

“Shameless,” Marian rolled her eyes. “Father is still embarrassed about it.”

“It’s all worked out now,” Anne shrugged and stood. “I’m going upstairs to my office.”

She kissed the top of Ann’s head and strode out of the room. Ann looked at Marian, who shook her head sardonically. 

“She never helps clean up.” Marian laughed, and Ann joined her. 

They cleared the table, and Ann followed her into the kitchen. It was small, bordering on cramped, perhaps a bit outdated. Marian started loading the dishwasher, and Ann hovered, unsure what to do. 

“How’re you settling in?” 

“Oh, fine,” Ann nodded. “It’s, uh – it’s an adjustment, but everyone’s being so lovely. And this house is –”

“This house could use a good renovation,” Marian interrupted, catching Ann’s eye with a smile. “Herself won’t let us. Something about architectural integrity. It’s why we have six WiFi routers; nothing is set up for the twenty-first century.”

Ann chuckled, struggling to find something interesting to say. 

“You’re so much better than the rest of them,” Marian said appreciatively as she straightened and closed the dishwasher. “Anne has brought a couple girls home – never to stay, you understand – but for dinner or Christmas or something. They’ve all been – just not right. I could tell they made her uneasy. She was always trying to prove something, you know? Not with you though. She’s at ease. Which is endlessly irritating.” 

“Sorry,” Ann laughed and bit her lip. 

“It’s good.” Marian nodded. “I’m pleased for you both. And for myself, because you are such good company.” She elbowed Ann in the side as she moved across the kitchen, tidying and straightening. 

Ann followed her into the parlor-turned-den, and they settled into the worn, leather couch. Marian flipped through channels until she settled on some rerun reality drivel, turning to raise an eyebrow. Ann nodded with a smile, and the two sunk lower into the soft couch. They watched and talked and laughed; Marian reminded her of Elizabeth when they were growing up. Before her marriage and her children had stolen all of her energy. Marian was funny and dry and silly in a way that made Ann feel cozy and protected. A reminder of her adolescence. 

The morning slipped away like this, and Ann started to genuinely at ease. Episode after episode rolled past them, and soon they heard Aunt Anne’s cane thumping into the kitchen. Marian stood and stretched, then squeezed Ann’s shoulder. 

“Are you going to replace that bedroom suite?”

“Actually, yes,” Ann was surprised. “I was just telling Anne last night that I wanted a new bed. It’s so dreary you know? Just God-awful.”

“Yeah,” Marian agreed. “I never thought she had any taste.”

“Guess I’ll have to fix that,” Ann laughed, but Marian’s face fell. “Or not.”

“I’m glad you’re sticking up for yourself,” Marian patted her arm seriously. “I wouldn’t want to use a hand-me-down either.”

“What?”

“Well, since all the furniture in that room – it was chosen by –” Marian shook her head then fixed Ann with a confused look. “I thought Anne would’ve told you. It was years ago, but, uh - Mariana Lawton picked it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't mean to leave you on a cliffhanger - next chapter is posted!
> 
> Breakfast conversation based on Anne's conversation with Mrs. Walker, where she told her she "was always a great pickle, never learnt anything at school, was always talking to the girls instead of attending to my book." March 10, 1819
> 
> Little Ann, of course, from the lovely ladies at Shibden After Dark.


	5. Tuesday Afternoon

It felt good to be back in her office. Anne leaned back contentedly; her small sanctuary was just as she had left it. Books and papers and boxes and letters and hats and signs and half-dried-out pens on every imaginable surface. Just enough space to nestle her laptop on the right side of the desk. It was like she had never left. 

She started writing, and the words seemed to pour out of her. Being home was great for her productivity. After a few hours, she couldn’t find the one reference text she was looking for, though, so she bent down to look in the tall stack on the floor next to her desk. She shot back up at the sound of the door slamming. 

Ann stood against the closed door, her face red and her chest heaving. Anne wondered for a moment if they would christen this room next, but then she saw the anger in Ann’s eyes. Uh-oh. 

“Were you going to tell me?” Ann spat out. 

“Tell you what?” Anne’s stomach clenched in fear. Barely twenty-four hours and she’d fucked it up already. Shit. 

“Where did you get that bed?” Ann crossed her arms. 

“What bed?” 

“The bed in your room – our room, Anne! The bed we slept in last night. The bed we –” Ann lowered her voice, “the bed we made love in last night.”

“And yesterday afternoon,” Anne quirked an eyebrow and stood. Perhaps a bit of charm would smooth this over. 

“Sit down.”

Guess not. 

“Where did you get that bed?”

It hit her – she’d forgotten. Shit. How could she not remember this? Why hadn’t she said anything? Anne bit her lip and twisted her ring. This was definitely a massive oversight, and she had no real defense. Panic over took her - this was borderline unforgivable, that Ann would be well-justified to leave her. She raised her head slowly to meet Ann’s icy gaze. 

“Years ago - I’m talking sixteen years ago, seventeen maybe. A long time ago, Mariana picked out that bedroom suite for me. The vanity and the dresser and – and the bed.” Anne paused, waiting for God to strike her dead and save her from this torture. Nothing. She continued, “Please understand, this was a very long time ago. Before she was married. It’s been so long; it’s just my stuff now. I didn’t even think about it until just now. I swear.” 

“You see how that’s kind of messed up,” Ann said, her voice still cold. “You see how that’s, like, pretty gross and fucked up. To have me move all of my belongings into furniture that your ex picked out for you.”

“Yes!” Anne shot to her feet, taking a step forward. Ann held her hand up; Anne stopped in her tracks, a lump forming in her throat. “Yes, Adney, of course I do. I’m sorry. That was not right. It was wrong. I fucked up. I was so excited to get you here, and – honestly, I’ve had that furniture so long, I genuinely didn’t think about it. Please believe me.”

“Did you have sex with her in that bed?”

Anne bit her lip. The silence stretching between them damned her. 

“I knew it,” Ann shook her head. “I wondered how many women you had there before me.”

“That’s why you…last night.”

“Yes, but –” Ann caught herself, “Actually I mostly wanted a new bed because that one is so damn ugly. It didn’t really bother me that you’d had other women; I sort of figured that. I wanted a new bed, because – well, I wanted something special and new. Something that was just for us. I never dreamed it was – God, Anne, do you ever think? Did it ever occur to you how weird that is?”

“I didn’t even think of it. I should have said something, Adney; I’m sorry.”

Ann said nothing, and Anne felt the lump in her throat choke her. Tears formed in her eyes, and she swiped at them. It was over. Ann would go back to Crow Nest, and this whole thing would be over. She’d pushed Mariana from her mind to the point she’d forgotten this, and now it would cost her her future happiness. She wanted to blame Mariana, but she knew it was her own fault. Why didn’t she think of this sooner?

“I understand,” she nodded, trying to keep her voice level. “I understand that this is a huge oversight, on my part. A mistake. And I understand that this may, uh – this may make you reevaluate some things. I understand this is a lot to take on, and, uh – now this. So, um…” she trailed off, tilting her head back to the ceiling. 

“Hold on,” Ann’s voice was perhaps one degree warmer than it had been before. “I’m not – Anne, look at me. We’re not breaking up over this.” Ann was exasperated now. “I’m pissed off, but we can work this out. Jesus.”

Anne crumpled into her chair in relief. She exhaled shakily. Ann stepped closer to her desk. 

“It’s not the end of the world. It’s ridiculous and weird and –” she sighed, “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Anne gasped. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Take a deep breath,” Ann soothed. “You’re so worked up. You’re, like, more upset than I am.”

“I have been so nervous,” Anne said to the desk, afraid she would drown in those deep blue eyes. The words rushed out of her: “I want everything to be perfect and for you to be happy and comfortable, and – well, Shibden is a little shabby. I love it, but – I mean, I know it’s not what you’re used to. The paint is peeling and the rooms are too small and my family is – God, they’re just imbeciles, aren’t they? I so badly want this house to be elegant and refined and all the things you deserve. It’s going to be. It’s going to be elegant. But for now, it just isn’t. It’s rusted and cramped and chipped, and I so desperately want you to be comfortable.”

“Hey,” Ann said, rounding the desk to perch on the edge next to Anne. “I love it here. I really do. I love being with you, and I really like your family, and I’m finding my way around.” Anne chuckled and looked up; she could’ve cried even now just looking at Ann, so soft and understanding and patient. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. I love Shibden, but, more importantly, I love you. I’m not leaving. But everything in that room is.” 

Anne laughed and reached for Ann’s hand. She swung their clasped hands gently, studying the ring on Ann’s finger, reminding herself. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Honestly, I did forget. I was so excited to have you here, and then so nervous you wouldn’t like it. When you brought the bed up last night, I was so worried your back was hurting, and – I don’t even think of any of that stuff as being connected to – to her at all. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ann nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You are going to get us all new furniture though.”

“Sure,” Anne smiled. “Maybe when the stores are back open, we can go browse.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to wait that long.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Ann chuckled and squeezed Anne’s hand, “I’m not having sex with you in that bed.”

Anne’s face fell. She was pretty sure her heart stopped beating as well. 

“What?” she managed. 

“Darling, we cannot make love in a bed that your married ex-girlfriend chose for you.” 

“She wasn’t married at the time,” Anne protested weakly.

“Still,” Ann shrugged. 

“Where are we going to have sex then?” 

“I guess we won’t,” Ann winked. 

Anne’s entire world narrowed to a single focus: getting a new bed as quickly as possible. She dropped Ann’s hand and spun to face her computer. She found the website for the local furniture store and pulled up their selection of bed frames. 

“What do you think?” Anne said over her shoulder as she scrolled slowly. 

Ann leaned over the back of her chair, and Anne was momentarily tempted to pull her into her lap. Best not get anything started, she thought, not until this is settled. 

“This one’s nice,” Ann pointed to a dark, four poster bed. It didn’t seem Ann’s style. 

“You think so?” 

“Sure, I think it would go with the rest of the house.”

“Hold on,” Anne turned to face Ann more squarely, “pick something you actually like. Who cares if it fits with the rest of the house? We’re the only ones who will see it.”

Ann nodded, and Anne turned back to the screen. They scrolled a bit further, until Ann spotted a sleek, modern bedframe: light grey, curling carvings running along the head and foot boards. Best of all, it was available for immediate delivery. 

“That one,” Ann’s hand reached over her shoulder to point at that sleek frame. “What do you think? Simple. Kind of modern. In stock.” Ann’s other hand traced the back of her neck, and Anne shivered. 

She picked up her phone, dialing the company’s number. She’d worked with them in the past, and she was confident they would deliver quickly. She was relieved when the owner answered after only a few rings. 

“Yes, it’s Anne Lister. I’m fine, yes, listen, I’m looking at a bed on your website – how soon can you get it here? …. You can’t come this afternoon? …. I’ll pay extra… Tomorrow then…. Fine.” Anne hung up with a sigh. 

“No luck?” Ann’s fingers were still running along the back of her neck and into her hair. 

“Tomorrow,” Anne busied herself placing the order online, trying to focus on the task at hand, rather than Ann’s maddening hand.

“Shame,” Ann said as she pulled away. She had perched on the edge of the desk again, exposing a stretch of creamy white thigh below her dress. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“Couldn’t we – I mean, there are a lot of places we could…” Anne trailed off with a tilt of her head, running her hand up Ann’s calf to the inside of her knee. 

“I think not, Pony,” Ann stood. “I think you might need to learn from this. This will be a good, practical lesson. A reminder so that, in the future, you tell your wife everything.”

Ann caught Anne in a lingering, wet kiss, then sauntered out of the room, leaving Anne with a dry throat and wet boxers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my version of Christmas 1834 aka Anne Lister being a huge dumbass and not recognizing the messed-up ways Mariana has inveigled herself in her life. And the effect it has on Ann and their relationship.
> 
> What do you think? I struggled with this chapter - how much is enough for a squabble? At what point does it bleed over into a full-fledged fight with more serious consequences? How to convey that Anne's panic softens Ann's anger and gets them on the same page? I don't knowwwwwwww, but I sure did try. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	6. Tuesday Night

It had rained all afternoon, but the storm broke at sunset. The spring air was cool and fresh; everything was doused in a light pink haze. Ann’s feet squelched in the wet grass as she studied Shibden’s rolling hills and patchy hedges; her sketchpad was tucked under her arm, her pencil box swinging in her hand. She’d decided on this walk after dinner, had been keeping her distance from Anne since that conversation in the office. 

She wasn’t angry anymore, not really. She knew well enough by now that Anne was a fool, apt to forgetfulness and mistakes and general dumbassery. It didn’t quell the anxiety twisting in her gut, or the stream of images rushing through her mind. She’d had to turn her phone off to keep herself from Googling Mariana endlessly. She kept picturing her smirk in that bed, her knowing eyes seducing Anne – she felt sick just thinking about it. She shook her head, as if she could physically banish the thoughts. She sat down on a damp stone bench and fiddled with the ring on her finger, wishing she wasn’t so insecure. 

She sketched half-heartedly for half an hour, but she couldn’t focus. She’d left Anne to the dishes in a bold attempt at independence. Now she longed for her, for her warm torso pressing into her side, for her strong arm around her shoulders, for her reassuring voice in her ear. Ann had felt lonely many times in her life, but she’d never longed for physical touch like this. Anne was so expressive with her hands; she was always touching or holding or caressing Ann in some way, a tactile reminder of her affection. Ann suddenly wished she’d stayed at the house. 

“Adney?”

Ann turned to find Anne approaching her tentatively, like a skittish cat. Ann held out her hand, sighing in relief at the warmth of Anne’s skin against hers. Anne sat down next to her, pull Ann’s hand into her lap and cradling it between both of hers. Ann leaned her head against Anne’s shoulder. 

“Am I still in trouble?” Anne asked quietly.

“Yes,” Ann grinned, then turned to press a kiss against Anne’s shoulder. “But I found I missed you.”

Anne hummed, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. The sky was clouding over again; frogs and crickets filled the night air with their songs. Ann studied the garden surrounding them. It really was quite nice. It could use a bit of pruning, but it was nice. 

“I’m going to get some different shrubs,” Anne said, gesturing in front of them. “Pull the hedges up over there. Make it more of a park, a parkland. It’s not exactly how I want it just yet. It’ll be difficult to make progress on my own, but I’m going to start in the morning.”

“You don’t have to apologize all the time.”

“What?”

“You’re always apologizing for Shibden,” Ann looked up at her. “You’re justifying and explaining why it isn’t very good, but I like it. Be proud of it.”

“I am,” Anne said defensively. “I’m just pointing out the improvements I’m going to make.”

“I like it just the way it is.”

“You’ll like it even better once I’ve fixed it up.”

Ann rolled her eyes at Anne’s perpetual stubbornness. Anne toyed with her fingers, sending waves of electricity up her arm and down to her core; Ann wasn’t sure she could keep to her own ultimatum. 

“Are you settling in alright?”

“I am,” Ann answered automatically. Anne pulled at her ring finger, and Ann sighed. “No, I guess I’m – I don’t quite feel settled. I love being here, being with you, but I don’t feel like it’s mine. I don’t have any space that belongs to me. You know? Even our bed is –” she chuckled and shook her head, “even our bed isn’t mine.”

“I’m sorry, Ann. I am.”

“I know, I know. It’s – it’s an adjustment. I had that huge house all to myself, and now I –” Ann paused, unsure if she should continue. Anne tugged her finger again. “I don’t even have a room. Our room is great, and it’ll be better with the new furniture, but - but it’s not mine. It’s ours. And I love sharing it with you, but I – oh, I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Anne grabbed her chin and forced her to meet her gaze. “Thank you for telling me that. I’m going to fix this. I’m – thank you for telling me.”

The sincerity in Anne’s voice overwhelmed her, warming her chest and taking the breath from her lungs. Had anyone ever worked so diligently to make her happy? She tilted her chin, smiling into Anne’s soft, searching kiss. Ann cupped her cheeks as Anne’s hands drifted to her waist. Anne’s lips were gentle, her tongue exploring her mouth slowly; Ann felt that burn building low in her stomach. Anne lifted her by the waist, like she was a ragdoll, and deposited her into her lap. Ann whimpered at the show of strength, her head falling back as she tangled her fingers in Anne’s ponytail. 

“I love you,” Anne’s breath was hot against her neck. 

“I love you,” Ann managed, her eyes slipping closed, “but you’re still in trouble.”

Anne groaned playfully into her neck. Her hands trailed fire up Ann’s thighs, under the hem of her dress, kneading her hips methodically. She ran her tongue along Ann’s collarbone, nipped lightly at her pulse point, placed a series of open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. Ann moaned, her head still thrown back, her hips starting a slow rhythm against Anne’s firm thighs. Anne’s gentle hands and her tireless tongue felt like electricity shooting through Ann’s veins, like pure adrenaline coursing through her blood. 

“Let me have you,” Anne whispered. “Please, Adney.” Her fingertips meandered along the elastic of her underwear. “Let me touch you.”

Ann gave in, for a moment, pulling Anne’s hair tightly and crashing their lips together. She attacked Anne’s mouth, all desperation and frustration and need. Anne pulled her hips in more tightly, one hand reaching up to run the length of her spine and splay between her shoulders. Ann rocked on Anne’s lap, feeling her arousal burn within her, stoked higher by the slide of Anne’s tongue against hers, the firm press of her lips, the sharp grasp of her fingers. Ann nipped her bottom lip, then pulled away.

“You’re still in trouble,” Ann panted. 

Anne’s eyes were wild; her jaw hung open as she sucked air into her lungs. Ann stood on shaky legs and retrieved her sketchbook and pencil box. She held her hand out to a still-recovering Anne; Anne opened her mouth as if to speak, then bit her lip and took Ann’s hand. 

“You don’t play fair.” Anne’s voice was rough. 

“I think you need to learn your lesson, Dr. Lister,” Ann smiled coquettishly as they made their way back to the house.

“When I got in trouble at Ripon, they would whip me. Would you do that, Miss Walker? Bend me over your knee?”

Anne’s voice was so low, so gravelly, Ann considered pouncing on her right there in the grass. She could see the fire burning in Anne’s eyes, even in the low light of the evening. A hundred dirty images flooded her mind as her heart beat in her ears. She was starting to regret this ultimatum. She had just opened her impossibly dry mouth to tell Anne to ravish her then and there, when a soft voice broke through the night air.

“Come on, girls, it’s going to rain again,” Aunt Anne called, ushering them in the kitchen door.

No sooner had she said it than the sky opened up, dumping sheets of big, cold raindrops on their skin. Ann shrieked, and Anne tugged her toward the house. They broke into a run, laughing and gasping and slipping in the wet grass. When they finally made it inside, they were both drenched. Aunt Anne laughingly shook her head at them. 

“You’re soaked. Here,” her bright eyes danced in the warm light as she passed them soft kitchen towels.

Ann buried her face in hers, then dried her neck and chest. Anne was lazily dragging the towel up her arm, watching Ann with a look so filthy it made Ann blush. 

“I’m off to bed,” Aunt Anne was already leaving the room. “Marian wanted me to leave you out there, by the way, and let you drown. Good night.”

Ann was left staring at her fiancée, a smoldering look passing between them. Despite the cool rain still clinging to her skin, she felt warm. Her eyes raked down Anne’s body, drawn to the way her wet shirt clung to her stomach; those muddy, scuffed boots were somehow intensely erotic. Her eyes shot back up to Anne’s.

“We can’t,” Ann breathed, “not in here.”

“This way,” Anne grabbed her wrist and tugged her into a small dark room.

She flipped the switch – the pantry. Ann laughed breathlessly, and Anne closed the door, leaving them chest-to-chest, surrounding by shelves of rice and soup and cereal. 

“If you don’t want me to touch you, that’s fine. Just tell me,” Anne nodded as she spoke, out of breath, “so I can go stand in that cold rain for about an hour.”

Ann laughed, and her worries slipped away. She hadn’t found her place at Shibden yet, but she would. Anne was helping her carve out spaces for herself – redecorating the bedroom, improving the garden, defiling this pantry. She reached for Anne’s hips, hooking her fingers through her belt loops and pulling her closer. 

“One question,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“Did you ever…” she pressed her hips flush against Anne’s, tilting her head suggestively, “with anyone else in here?”

“No,” Anne shook her head forcefully.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ann dove in, capturing Anne’s lips in a frantic kiss. She hadn’t realized how much she needed the other woman, and now she was on fire. Anne’s hands cupped her face with infinite tenderness, even as her hips rolled insistently. Ann moaned at the sensation, and Anne pushed her toward the back of the pantry. 

“That’s a yes, then, is it?” Anne purred in her ear.

“Yes, Pony, God,” Ann gasped, her back pressing roughly into the wooden shelves. 

Anne grinned, her hands reaching behind Ann to shove aside canisters and jars and bags. Ann laughed breathlessly when a box of pasta fell to the floor, causing Anne to curse under her breath. The shelves were uneven, so Ann was able to perch on one, just barely. She clenched her stomach, trying to keep her balance; she sagged in relief when Anne’s strong hand reached out to pin her hip and hold her in place. Ann spread her legs, pulling Anne to stand between them. Anne’s free hand traced up her calf, over her knee, along the inside of her thigh; Ann shifted impatiently on the shelf, but Anne held her firm.

“I missed you today,” Anne breathed against her neck. “It felt like we hardly saw each other.”

Ann nodded, her hands grasping desperately at Anne’s damp shirt. Anne was teasing her, her fingers trailing lightly over her hot skin. Ann stretched her neck to one side, whimpering at the soft kisses Anne was pressing there. 

“I guess that’s my fault, isn’t it?” Ann nodded. “Let me make it up to you, Adney.”

Anne started caressing Ann’s center over her panties - slow, methodical strokes that made Ann positively feral. Ann rutted her hips urgently, fisting her hands in Anne’s shirt. The kisses to her neck grew sloppier, wetter. Ann moaned, desperate for Anne to breach that thin lace barrier between her hand and Ann’s aching core. She slipped her hands under Anne’s shirt and dug into her skin; Anne’s back arched with a gasp, her head shooting up to meet Ann’s gaze. 

“Anne Lister,” she panted, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

The dam burst – Anne dove into her, attacking Ann with her lips, teeth, and tongue. The hand between her legs fiddled with the wet lace, but their position was too precarious, their bodies too close, their need too consuming. Anne growled into her mouth, then Ann felt a tug, followed by a rush of cool air on her core. Before she could process what had happened, Anne thrust into her roughly. Ann broke the kiss, dropping her head to rest on Anne’s shoulder. Anne filled her so perfectly, so completely, her thumb pressing her clit savagely with each stroke. 

“Fuck, Ann,” Anne’s breath was hot in her ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

Ann whimpered into Anne’s chest. The shelf was shaking with the force of Anne’s thrusts, but Ann couldn’t get close enough. She gripped Anne’s back tighter, edging closer and closer to her peak. The tiny pantry felt like a sauna; Ann could feel sweat dripping down her own back, her fingers slipping across Anne’s damp skin. Everything was wet, frantic, hungry. Anne’s teeth sunk into her neck, and Ann exploded. She trembled in Anne’s arms as her orgasm washed over her, Anne pressing soft kisses behind her ear as her hand slowed and finally retreated to rest on top of her thigh. 

Ann loosened her grip on Anne’s back just enough to sink down below her waistband, over her firm ass. Anne’s hips shot forward, and Ann grinned. There was nothing she enjoyed so much as exerting her complete control over Anne Lister. She brought one hand around to fumble with Anne’s button and zipper, the other kneading Anne’s behind. Anne moaned as Ann’s dipped her fingers in her boxers; Ann caught that moan with her lips, leading Anne in a slow, grinding kiss as she traced through her arousal. When Ann finally pressed firmly on her clit, Anne’s hand shot out to steady herself on the shelf by Ann’s head. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, Pony?”

Anne hummed, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Ann stroked faster, harder, bringing Anne to a pant. 

“You couldn’t even go one day without me, could you?”

Anne shook her head. Her hips bucked wildly against Ann’s hand. Several jars rolled off the shelf next to them. Ann brought her hand from Anne’s ass to her chest, tracing her exposed skin, while the other still stroked between her legs. 

“You love me?”

Anne nodded with a whimper. 

“You want me?”

Anne nodded. Ann could tell she was on the precipice. 

“You need me?”

Anne nodded. 

“Say it,” Ann slowed her strokes. Anne’s eyes shot open. “Say you need me.”

“I need you,” Anne gasped. “I need you, Ann, please, I –”

Ann sped up between her legs, and soon Anne was shuddering, mumbling breathlessly into Ann’s shoulder. She could feel Anne’s heart racing in her chest, so she dipped her head to kiss her jugular lightly. Anne’s breathing evened out, and Ann pulled her hand away, wiping it on her thigh. Anne pulled away, and Ann drifted to the floor, stretching out of the cramped position. Anne turned her head, surveying the damage – boxes and jars and canisters on the floor. Anne looked up; they grinned at each other. Anne turned away with a smirk, and – 

The door opened a crack. Anne’s hand shot out to catch it, wedging her face in the opening and rising on her tiptoes to block Ann. 

“Wha – what are you doing?” Anne’s voice quavered. 

Ann’s heart stopped. She froze.

“I was looking for some crisps, is that a crime?” Marian’s annoyed voice came through. 

“No, I was just – I was reorganizing in here."

“At 11 o’clock at night?” Marian’s suspicious voice made Ann’s gut drop. What would she do if Marian saw her?

“Is that a crime?” 

“Little Ann kicked you out of bed, did she?”

“No!” Anne said forcefully. “No, actually, I’m just –”

“She did,” Marian was practically gleeful. “You screw it up already, Big Anne? Have fun sleeping on the couch. Now, can I get my crisps?”

“Uh, tell me what kind you want,” Anne’s hand reached behind her. Ann tried to locate the crisps on the cluttered shelves. 

“Why can’t I have a look?” 

Marian’s head peaked over Anne’s, and – there it was. She locked eyes with Ann, whose first instinct was to smile politely. She ran her hand through her disheveled hair, watching Marian’s face catch up to her mind. She went from surprise to confusion to understanding. 

“Oh, Anne,” Marian sighed. “Ann and – oh both of you! By the crisps? God.” She sounded despondent. “I can’t eat them now, can I? Now that you’ve – oh, damn you, you’re some kind of sex maniac.” She punched Anne lightly in the stomach. “I can’t even have a bag of crisps in this house.”

Marian’s voice faded, still bemoaning her sullied and degraded snack choices. Anne turned back to face Ann, and they burst out laughing. Ann felt tension roll out of her as they stooped to replace everything back on the shelves. She wiped her tears when they finished, mind still reeling. 

“What am I going to do?” She whined as they turned off the lights and went upstairs. “I can never look your sister in the face again.”

“Oh, forget her,” Anne soothed, taking her hand, “she’ll get over it. She likes you well enough already. She couldn’t stop talking about you while I was doing the dishes tonight. ‘Little Ann’ this, and ‘Little Ann’ that. I wondered if I needed to worry about her trying to marry you before I could.” 

Ann shook her head with a chuckle, slipping her shoes off and padding to the dresser to get ready for bed. 

“Don’t worry, Pony.” Ann pulled her dress over her head. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

“Quite right,” Anne bumped her hip as she moved to the sink. “Don’t you forget it.”

“As if I – hold on, have you torn my underwear?” Ann slipped the damp shreds from her hips. This was one of her favorite pairs, and she felt a sense of loss at their destruction. 

Anne shrugged sheepishly, toothbrush hanging from her lips, and Ann felt her disappointment ebb away. She studied her future wife – muddy boots staining the bathmat, grey boxers poking out from skintight jeans, black t-shirt rumpled and half-tucked, chestnut hair escaping her ponytail and sticking up at all angles. Anne caught her eye in the mirror and winked; Ann flushed and turned away to find her pajamas. Wasn’t it nice, she mused, to love someone so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried, you know, I tried to keep their hands off each other, but I just couldn't do it...
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I am so appreciate of every comment and kudos and bookmark and hit. Y'all are truly the greatest.
> 
> Anne's reference to being whipped comes from the same diary entry as Chapter 4: "was always a great pickle, never learnt anything at school. Was always talking to the girls instead of attending to my book. Talked a little of my being whipped every day at Ripon." March 10, 1819.


	7. Wednesday Morning

Anne woke on her back, Ann’s head on her chest and Ann’s leg thrown across her lap. Her internal clock didn’t allow her to sleep past about six, and sure enough, the clock on her nightstand read 5:37. She dragged her hand lazily up and down Ann’s spine for a few moments, debating whether to get up for her walk. She really did want to get started on the grounds today, and she knew if she stayed in bed all morning she would fall behind. Ann wasn’t likely to let them get into anything naughty anyway, not until the new bed arrived. Anne pressed a soft kiss to Ann’s temple and slipped out from underneath her. 

“Pony,” Ann murmured, eyes still closed. 

“Go back to sleep, darling,” Anne soothed. 

“You don’t understand, Officer,” Ann was saying, clearly still asleep, “she’s a pony, but she’s also my wife.” 

Anne felt a grin spread across her face as she turned away to prepare for the day. She showered and dressed quickly, her mind already filling with tasks. She could get more done if she skipped breakfast, but she knew Ann would be nervous to face Marian. She’d work for a few hours, come have breakfast, then get back in the field. 

As she strode into the morning, Anne breathed deeply to fill her lungs with Shibden air. It was richer, calmer, cleaner than any other in the world, or at least it seemed that way to her. She made her way through the garden slowly, inspecting hedges and trees and flowerbeds; she prioritized each, itemized the materials required, assessed the time needed for each task. She found herself at a clump of trees along the edge of the estate as the sun started to rise; if she was correct, there was an old cabin nestled within. 

It took her nearly twenty minutes of pushing through overgrown branches and high grass, but she found it. The caretaker’s cottage, abandoned a decade or so ago when Washington got married and decided his growing family needed more space. It was small, just a bedroom, bathroom, and a cramped main room, but it stood in a clearing, protected and private. The light was excellent. It would take several hours, but, if she didn’t work on anything else, she could have it in shape by the end of the day. She eased the rusted door open and went inside, noting the need for fresh paint, a deep clean, a different furniture configuration. Yes, this would be perfect. 

She beat her way back through the underbrush and nearly ran back to the house. Bursting into the kitchen, she found Marian sleepily frying bacon and eggs.

“You’re filthy!” Marian exclaimed. 

“Good morning, sister,” Anne grinned, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek and moving to the sink to wash her hands.

“Any chance you could help me with this?”

“Don’t think so.” Anne was already digging through the utility closet for her gardening gloves, leftover paint cans, various cleaning supplies. 

“About last night –” Marian sighed. Anne wheeled around.

“Look, don’t hold it against Ann, alright?” She met her sister’s eyes meaningfully. “She’s very embarrassed, and she’s convinced herself you won’t want anything to do with her.”

“I don’t blame her!”

“You don’t?”

“It’s all your fault, you pervert. Coming on to poor Little Ann like that - in the pantry, of all places. I was going to tell you to lay off my friend.”

“Lay off your friend? She’s to be my wife, you know.”

“So maybe you should treat her with a bit more respect,” Marian shot back. “Screwing in the pantry is – I mean, God, Anne. You couldn’t make it upstairs?”

“What would you know about it?”

“I know about it,” Marian prickled. 

“Oh?” Anne pressed, pleased to have gotten under her skin. “Thomas still stringing you along? Fun to flirt with the boss, but when work’s over…not so much.”

“Stringing along? How many years did you spend moping about Mariana? You’re still wearing black!”

“I don’t have anything else, and all the stores are closed!” 

“Stop fighting,” Jeremy’s tired voice called from the hall. 

“Whatever,” Marian lowered her voice. “Would you mind not having sex in shared spaces anymore? We all live here.”

“It’s my house, Marian,” Anne reminded her. “I’ll do as I like.”

“Then maybe I should move out,” Marian dared.

“I wish you would.”

“I will!”

“So do it!”

“Girls!” Aunt Anne’s head poked in the doorway. “Nobody’s moving out. You’re both being ridiculous. Stop shouting.”

Anne and Marian shared a brief truce to pout as the thump of Aunt Anne’s cane faded. 

“All I’m saying,” Marian whispered, “is you shouldn’t be forcing yourself on Ann in the pantry. It’s gross and it’s not dignified and – Ann deserves better. Okay? She has a bad back.”

Anne opened her mouth to protest, to say Ann was always her equal partner, to remind her she was intimately aware of Ann’s back problems, but she refrained. This was better. She could take the heat, and if that relieved Ann, she didn’t even mind. She nodded solemnly.

“You’re right. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Marian clicked her tongue in appreciation and shoved a plate of eggs into Anne’s hand, leading her into the dining room. Anne rolled her eyes, but she followed. 

“Good morning!” Aunt Anne was just sitting down. Captain Lister was buried in his newspaper. 

“Good morning,” Anne kissed the top of her aunt’s forehead, then her father’s. 

“Where’s Little Ann?” Aunt Anne asked as she served her plate. 

“I don’t know,” Anne sat down. “I’ve just been for my walk.”

“Go get her!” Aunt Anne chastised. “She’ll miss her breakfast.”

Anne sighed and rose. She trotted up the stairs and met Ann on the landing, looking absolutely delectable in light green shorts and a white t-shirt that hung over her shoulder, her blonde waves tied back in a high bun. 

“Hi!” Ann lit up with that smile, that special smile she reserved for Anne, and Anne couldn’t resist. 

She grabbed Ann by the hips, kissing her fiercely and pressing her into the wall. Ann stuttered for a beat, but then she leaned into it, her hands running along Anne’s shoulders and along her neck. Anne pulled away to catch her breath. 

“Aunt told me to come get you. That you’d miss your breakfast.” 

“I couldn’t figure out what to wear,” Ann explained as they descended. “I wanted to be comfortable for the furniture delivery today, but I don’t think your family is quite ready for the full sweatpants, no-makeup Little Ann.”

“Don’t you start!” Anne teased, grabbing Ann’s waist. “Little Ann.” She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “You look ravishing in anything and everything and nothing,” she whispered in Ann’s ear as they entered the dining room. Ann blushed and swatted her arm. 

They settled into breakfast, and Anne felt that now-familiar contentment in her belly from having her whole family together. She had never had such a consistent partner, someone to eat breakfast with daily, and she certainly had never had them at home like this. Even in the early days of Mariana, she hadn’t owned Shibden. She had never been allowed the exquisite pleasure of running her estate with the woman she loved by her side. 

“Father,” she started, “I’m going to make some improvements to the estate, and I’d like to run them past you. So you know what’s going on. 

“In case I might have an opinion?” Jeremy asked dryly. 

“Yes. I’m going to construct an ornamental walk from the garden gate, down through the Hall Ing, down the side of Calf Croft, and into Lower Brook Ing.”

“Why?”

“And then-” Marian’s words only just now filtered through her mind, “because it will look elegant, Marian. Then I’m going to rehabilitate Washington’s cottage into an ornamental moss house. A chaumière.”

“What?” Jeremy said loudly.

“What for?” Marian scoffed in the same moment.

“A chaumière,” she overenunciated for her father’s benefit. “It’ll be like a summer house, like an ornamental –”

“Like a shed?” Marian deadpanned, drawing a giggle from Ann.

Marian was baiting her. Anne bit the inside of her cheek and tapped the table to rein in her temper. 

“At the same time, I’m going to pull up the hedges and trim most of the shrubs back.”

“Why though?” Aunt Anne squinted at her. 

“Because I – because I’m sick of the place looking like an old farm.”

“It is an old farm,” Marian’s irritating voice broke in. Anne clenched her jaw.

“Shibden Hall is the oldest–”

Ann’s small hand reached out to cover hers on the table and squeezed, effectively silencing her. 

“I think it sounds very nice,” Ann said gently. 

“Oh, Little Ann, you’ve saved us!” Marian laughed. “That speech usually takes up half the morning.” 

Anne rolled her eyes as her sister rose and started clearing the table. 

“It’s going to be amazing, darling,” Ann said quietly.

“I think so,” Anne leaned back in her seat, pleased with her plan coming together. “It’s a lot of work though; I’ll be gone most of the day.”

“Oh.” Ann’s brows knit together. “What about the furniture delivery?”

“You can handle that, can’t you, darling?” Anne stood without waiting for an answer.

She gathered her supplies from the utility closet, then made her way to the tool shed for a few more. She dumped all of it in the wheelbarrow and set out for the chaumière. It would make a perfect studio, and her excitement grew at the thought of surprising Ann. And after the pantry incident, Anne couldn’t help but think she and Ann needed someplace private, far from inquiring eyes and ears. Her skin tingled at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I cannot tell you how much every comment means to me. Y'all are helping me figure out so many things with this story and these characters and making me a better writer every day. Thank you!!
> 
> Anne's conversation with Marian based loosely on this entry: "just gently named to Marian, when alone with her, that I really wished she would never again set at me as she did last night - & she began roaring again, saying we did not suit & she would go away etc etc. This always annoys me, & at last I am inclined to make it a rule never to mention Marian in any way to anyone." September 30, 1832.  
> Their real-life argument was based on something more serious, I think, and definitely not Anne grubbling young Miss Walker in the pantry. But I love to see Anne Lister, formidable landlord and business owner, reduced to sisterly squabbling. It's so relatable. And I love that Marian is always threatening to move out, but she doesn't for years and years.


	8. Wednesday Afternon

The movers arrived midafternoon. Ann practically leapt from the couch at the sound of the bell, drawing a round of laughter from the Listers. She flushed as she raced to the door, meeting a pair of sunburned, haggard men in baseball hats. She led them to the bedroom and showed them which pieces to take away and where to put the new ones. She’d stripped the bed and cleared the drawers after breakfast, and by the time the movers deposited all the new furniture the room looked like a bomb had gone off. Her heart raced; how would she get all of this straightened out on her own? 

She longed for Anne and her effortless leadership. Why had she abandoned her like this? She considered going out to look for her, but where would she even start? She wasn’t familiar with the grounds, and no doubt spend longer traipsing about looking for Anne than she would just doing the work. Still, her stomach twisted. She picked up her phone to call Anne; it was on the third ring that she realized that persistent buzzing was Anne’s phone. She’d left it in the bathroom. Ann sighed and dialed Elizabeth. It rang several times, and Ann was about to give up when her sister came on the line. 

“Annie! God, it’s been so crazy here, but I’ve been thinking about you. How are you? How is it?”

“I’m –” Ann sighed; she couldn’t lie to her sister. “It’s kind of hard, Liz. I love Anne, and her family – they’re being so sweet. But, I mean, it’s – like, nothing is mine. I’m always so nervous I’m going to say the wrong thing, or embarrass myself. I keep getting turned around in this maze of a house, and I think I forgot to pack my acrylics. We’re getting all this new bedroom furniture, and …” Ann trailed off and shook her head. 

“Hey, take a breath.”

Ann inhaled shakily and leaned against the wall.

“This is normal, Annie, okay? You’re going through a big change right now. You’re in an unfamiliar place. You’re around unfamiliar people.”

“I just want this part to be over. I want to skip forward to being comfortable and settled and married. Everything is so overwhelming, and I - I just want it to be done.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you do not want that,” Elizabeth laughed. 

“Yes, I do!” Ann whined. 

“No,” Elizabeth drawled, “you do not. Being comfortable and settled and married is boring. I mean, it’s nice, but – look, is it still exciting to be with Anne? Or just stressful?”

“Exciting.”

“Do you still feel those flutters when you see her?”

“Of course.”

“Are you having a lot of sex?”

“Liz!”

“I’m serious! Are you guys –”

“Yes!” Ann blushed. “Yes, God, we are.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth hummed saucily; Ann could practically hear her smug smile through the phone. “So think about all those wonderful, sexy feelings you have right now, and compare them to my settled, comfortable marriage: crying babies, endless laundry, perfunctory sex once a month.”

“Fine,” Ann sighed. “I see what you’re saying.”

“Enjoy this time, as much as you can. I know it’s difficult right now, but this is an amazing period in your relationship. It’s so much better. For you and for Anne. Make the most of it, before you turn into old married folks like we are. Now, why are you getting new furniture?”

Ann spent the rest of the afternoon arranging their bedroom and chatting with Elizabeth. By the time she hung up, she felt much better. She wasn’t even annoyed with Anne anymore, not really. She was 29 years old; she could handle a simple furniture delivery. Besides, every time she glanced at their new bed, she thought of different ways Anne could make it up to her. She had just finished replacing everything in Anne’s dresser when the woman herself burst in the room. She had paint and dirt streaked across her face, arms, and clothes; her hair was wild, but her eyes shone. She was the most vibrant person Ann had ever seen. Ann had no choice but to pounce on her, pulling the older woman into a fierce kiss. Anne’s hands wrapped around her waist, and Ann melted into her. Elizabeth was right – this was better. 

“You’re so dirty,” Ann whined, brushing a fleck of paint from her neck. “What have you been doing?”

“It’s a surprise,” Anne husked into her ear.

“Do you like our room?”

Anne stepped back and turned slowly in place. When she was facing Ann again, she had the strangest look on her face. Ann’s stomach dropped, assuming Anne didn’t like it. But then her eyes brightened, her lips parted in a soft smile, and her hand reached out for Anne’s, pulling her back into her embrace. Ann searched her eyes, picking out excitement, sadness, happiness, and gratitude; she draped her arms around Anne’s neck and waited. 

“I love it,” Anne whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Ann tilted her chin. 

They kissed slowly, gently. Anne walked them backward until Ann’s legs hit their new bed, then pulled away with a quirk of her eyebrow. Ann frowned. 

“You’re filthy.”

“I know,” Anne purred, her fingers trailing under Ann’s shirt. 

“No,” Ann said slowly. “You have paint and dirt and – a leaf?” Ann picked it from her hair. “You can’t get in our brand-new bed like that.”

Anne stepped away and considered, eyes raking up Ann’s body. Ann felt flushed under her gaze. Anne bit her lip, then bent double to throw Ann over her shoulder. Ann laughed, pounding her fists lightly against Anne’s broad back; Anne’s strong hand gripped her thigh just under her ass, holding her steady. God, how she loved Anne’s hands on her; it felt like her the mere touch of her skin had set Ann on fire. Anne set her gingerly on the bathroom counter, then reached one hand in the shower to turn on the water. 

“Fancy getting clean with me, Miss Walker?” Anne husked, running her hands up Ann’s bare legs. 

“I guess,” Ann teased, toying with the hem of Anne’s shirt. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

“What’s mine is yours,” Anne nipped at her neck.

Ann pulled at her shirt, and Anne stepped back to slip it over her head. Ann yanked her back by her waistband, fumbling with the belt holding up her thick work pants and shoving them roughly over her hips. Anne laughed and hopped around to finish tugging them off. Ann shucked her own shirt, and then Anne was on her again. She caught Ann’s lips in a searing kiss, her fingers fumbling over the buttons on Ann’s shorts. Ann leaned back on her hands, so Anne could pull her shorts and panties over her legs. Anne tossed them over her shoulder and kissed Ann’s neck, unclasping her bra and sliding it down her arms. 

“Pony,” Ann moaned as she pulled at the straps of Anne’s sports bra. 

Anne pulled away with a smirk and tugged it off. Ann bit her lip as she took in the sight before her. Dirt-streaked, wild-haired, bright-eyed Anne Lister in only her low-slung, black boxer-briefs; she slid off the counter and pressed their chests together. Anne’s hands roamed her back, and Ann inhaled her scent. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Anne said quietly, “if we’re going to make dinner.”

Ann whined into her chest. 

“Your idea, Adney.”

Ann squinted up at Anne, who quirked an eyebrow. Ann hooked her fingers in Anne’s boxer-briefs and sent them to the floor. She slapped Anne on the ass playfully. 

“I guess we’d better get going.”

Anne growled and crashed their lips together, pushing Ann into the shower. Ann shivered despite the warm water; when Anne’s hands started kneading her hips, she tangled her fingers in Anne’s hair, releasing it from its confines. Anne pulled her out of the stream and pressed her into the slick tile, trailing her lips down Ann’s neck and across her clavicle. Her mouth was gentle, tender, patient. Slowly, she traced her way down to Ann’s breasts, taking each in her mouth reverently. Their time crunch flashed briefly in Ann’s mind, but she wasn’t about to interrupt. 

Anne pressed soft kisses along Ann’s belly, her hands wrapping around Ann’s hips. Ann pulled those dark locks, willing Anne to move lower. Anne nipped at her hipbone in reprimand, but she lifted Ann’s leg over her shoulder anyway. Ann shifted her stance and anchored herself against the wall, moaning lowly at the first, hard pass of Anne’s tongue. If before Anne had been slow and gentle, now she was demanding and insistent. Her fingers dug into Ann’s skin, holding her upright as her lips, teeth, and tongue covered every inch of her core. Ann threw her head back against the tile, pressing Anne’s head into her center, high-pitched moans escaping her lips. Anne was devouring her, consuming her whole, and Ann wasn’t sure how much longer she could survive. When Anne’s lips closed around her clit, Ann collapsed, supported only by Anne’s strong hands. She gasped through wave after wave, until finally Anne pulled away, kissed her belly once, then rose to stand under the warm spray. 

Ann caught her breath and watched Anne tilt backward, shaking out her hair under the water. She picked up Anne’s loofah and body wash, smirking as she built up a lather. Anne raised an eyebrow. Starting at her shoulders, Ann scrubbed Anne’s skin, erasing dirt and paint with every swipe. Ann lost herself in the smooth lines and hard planes of Anne’s body, reveling in the goosebumps she left in her wake. She knelt to run her hands over Anne’s lean calves, up her muscular thighs, but soon the hot water ran in her eyes. She shook her head, blinking rapidly, and looked up to find Anne laughing at her. 

“Baby, come here,” she pulled Ann to her feet, wrapping her arms around her waist. Ann ran her hands up Anne’s slick back. 

The soap swirled down the drain, and Ann trailed one hand around her hip, over her firm stomach, then between her legs. Anne exhaled shakily, and Ann caught her lips as she started circling her clit insistently. Anne tore her mouth away, resting her forehead on Ann’s shoulder, and Ann grinned into her neck. She worked her hand over Anne’s core faster and faster, pressing sloppy kisses along her neck and behind her ear. Anne’s body seized, shuddering and gasping as her arousal coated Ann’s hand. 

“Aren’t you going to wash your hair, Pony?” Ann teased. 

Anne straightened and smirked, reaching behind her to turn off the water. 

“No time, darling. Somehow we’ve gotten behind schedule.”

“Can’t imagine how that happened,” Ann stepped out of the shower and grabbed two towels, tossing one behind her. 

They managed to make their way downstairs, fully-dressed and dry-haired, before anyone came looking for them. Ann perched on the counter as Anne cooked, those familiar flutters in her stomach as she watched her fiancée take control of the kitchen like she did everything else. Elizabeth was right – this time was exciting, even with all the uncertainty. She still wanted to find that comfortable familiarity with Anne, but she wasn’t in a rush anymore. She wondered briefly if their sex life would ever peter off, slacken, or get ‘perfunctory,’ as Elizabeth said hers was. 

“How long do you think we have to stay down here?” Anne whispered in her ear and squeezed her knee. “Before I can spread you out on that brand-new bed of ours?”

No, Ann thought, as a shiver ran down her spine; with Anne around, she doubted anything in her life would be perfunctory ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! And thank you for these lovely, lovely comments. Not only are they so supportive and motivating, y'all are getting to the point where you're correctly predicting what's going to happen next! That's so flippin' cool! And y'all are finding things in the writing that I didn't even notice, but then I look back and it's there. Oh, man! This is crazy. Anyway, lots of good things coming up in the next several chapters that I am real excited about.


	9. Wednesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean...they got a new bed. What choice did I have?

“It’s rather late,” Anne feigned a yawn. “I think we’d better get to bed, what do you say?”

She turned expectantly to her fiancée, who was hunched over a game of backgammon with Marian. Aunt Anne and Jeremy had already trudged up to bed, but Marian and Ann had agreed to one more hit of backgammon. That was four hits ago. Anne flipped her book closed with a snap, but Ann hardly looked up, waving her hand behind her.

“Go ahead, if you’re tired.”

“I thought you might be tired, darling, all the work you did today.” 

“Actually, I am tired,” Ann finally turned to face her; “my back is a little sore too. I had to work so hard by myself today.”

Ann was teasing her, that playful glint in her eye. Anne longed to wrap her in her arms, yank her from that chair, and kiss that smirk right off her face, but Marian’s insolent face peeked over Ann’s shoulder. Anne bit the inside of her cheek and tapped the heel of her boot on the floor, trying to figure out how to play this. Perhaps she would go upstairs directly, wait for Ann, make a few preparations…Or she could stay here, let this delicious tension between them grow. Maybe she could find a way to get Marian to leave; better yet, how could she get Marian to start wearing earplugs to bed?

“That was pretty rotten,” Marian broke in, her flat affect grating on Anne’s nerves as always. “You spent all day doing God-knows-what outside and left Little Ann to do everything.”

“I was working. You could have helped, Marian.”

“She’s right, Anne darling, it was an awful lot to do,” Ann turned back to her game. “I spent all day waiting for you; I don’t think waiting for me a few minutes more will kill you.”

Anne harrumphed back into her chair and reopened her book. She spent the next thirty-seven minutes in agony, watching Ann bend, twist, and stretch over the backgammon game. Ann was tempting her on purpose, sliding her hand up her own thigh as if in deep concentration, hitching her skirt up, and even, at one point, leaning over so far to retrieve a fallen game piece that Anne could see her pale pink panties. Anne couldn’t focus on her book, couldn’t follow their inane conversation, couldn’t even muster the wherewithal to stand up and leave the room. She just sat, mesmerized, until Marian scraped her chair backward and stood. 

“Wipe your drool, Big Anne. I think it’s time for bed.”

“What?” Anne breathed, her only coherent thoughts centered around Ann’s cleavage, now bobbing at eye level. 

“She’s not very subtle, is she?” Marian said sardonically.

“No,” Ann sighed, coming to stand beside Anne and run her hand across her shoulders. “Your eyes are like saucers, my love.”

“Uh, I’m –” Anne blinked and shook her head. “I’m – uh – that’s – I’m not – oh, shut up, both of you.”

Ann laughed, trailing her fingers through the hair at the base of Anne’s neck. 

“Glad you’ve got this one whipped, Little Ann. Otherwise she would be an absolute menace.” Marian rolled her eyes and made for the stairs. Anne watched her go, wrapping one arm around Ann’s waist. 

“Does your back really hurt, Adney?”

“Maybe a little,” Ann had that saucy lilt to her voice; she scratched the back of Anne’s head. 

“I should have helped you with the furniture. I didn’t even think about it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ann shrugged. “Maybe you could make it up to me?”

“Gladly,” Anne grinned pulled Ann into her lap. 

Their lips met feverishly, all the built-up passion from the last half-hour bursting forth. Anne gripped the younger woman’s hips firmly, grinding into her in a slow rhythm. Ann’s hands cupped her face, fingertips running into the hair at her temple. Anne groaned, pulling away to catch her breath. 

“Take me to bed,” Ann whispered against her lips. 

Who was Anne to deny such an earnest request?

Anne grinned and stood with Ann in her arms, delighting in the firm press of her legs around her waist. A small part of her mind worried about bumping into one of her family members, but that worry melted away when Ann started to press insistent kisses along her neck. Anne felt she deserved a medal of some kind for making it up the narrow staircase without tripping, dropping Ann, or throwing her to floor and taking her in the hallway. She kicked the door shut behind her and laid Ann on the bed, settling over her on her hands and knees. Ann broke their kiss to whisper in her ear. 

“Take those off.”

“Be patient,” Anne pressed a kiss to her clavicle.

“Your boots,” Ann said softly, running a hand up Anne’s thigh.

“What?” Anne froze.

“Take your boots off,” Ann had that shy smile on her face, the same one from downstairs, from breakfast, from every time she got Anne to do exactly what she wanted without lifting a finger. “You’ll get the bed all dirty.”

“Is that so?” Anne stood, bending to unlace and toe off her boots. She put one knee on the bed, before Ann’s voice cut her off again.

“Don’t leave them in the middle of the floor, Pony. Why don’t you go put them by the door?”

And that smile. That same, unassuming smile. The one that meant Anne would jump off a cliff, rob a bank, be nice to Marian – any ridiculous request from Ann: fulfilled. Anne stooped to retrieve her boots and carry them to the door. When she turned back to face the bed, Ann was biting her lip; her eyes danced in the low light of the evening. 

“Better?” Anne asked. 

“You can lose the trousers too.” 

Anne stepped out of her pants, tossing them into the adjoining room. Her growing arousal at being ordered around like this surprised her; best to file that away for later, she thought. She’d had enough of Ann calling the shots.

“How’s that?” Anne husked, crawling onto bed and over Ann again, balancing on one forearm as she ran one hand up the creamy expanse of Ann’s thigh. 

“Perfect,” Ann whispered, pulling Anne’s lips to hers. 

Anne worked determinedly, sliding her tongue into her warm mouth, rolling her hips into hers, hooking her fingers in those pink panties. After a few long moments, she broke the kiss and shifted enough to slip the lace down Ann’s legs and to the floor. Ann’s hands grappled at her back, pulling Anne into her. Anne started a slow rhythm with her tongue and her fingers. She kissed Ann tenderly, as her fingers traced through Ann’s arousal. Ann’s fingers tightened around her shoulders; she broke away to gasp air into her lungs, her neck arching back into the bed. 

“You’re so wet,” Anne breathed in her ear. 

Ann whimpered, lifting her hips into Anne’s touch. Anne nipped her ear. 

“So impatient too,” Anne tsked. Ann nodded, rolling her hips more insistently. “I guess you want me to go a little faster.” 

Ann moaned, her hips bucking. Anne probed her entrance gently, then thrust into her. She started a steady rhythm, her thumb slipping over Ann’s hard clit with every pass. 

“Getting what you wanted, darling?”

Ann moaned again, and Anne dropped her head to press a series of soft kisses along her neck. She had found Ann responded particularly well to this tactic: gentle ministrations in one area, belied by rougher movements somewhere else. She adored the way Ann felt in her arms, around her fingers, below her lips. Ann was panting in earnest now, her nails digging into Anne’s back and bicep. Now was the perfect time to move up to her jaw, drag her tongue and graze her teeth; Ann’s hips froze in midair at the first soft bite to her jugular. Anne grinned into her neck; there was nothing so divine as this – the moment Ann hung on the precipice, all heavy breathing and soft whines and fresh arousal coating Anne’s hand. Anne pulled back from her neck, moving her hand more quickly, and watched Ann’s face contort, her back arch, her body shudder. Anne coaxed her through the aftershocks, studying her flushed chest, her sweat-slick forehead, her faintly mumbling lips. Finally, Ann was still, and Anne pulled her hand away. She wiped it surreptitiously on her boxers, then fell back onto the bed next to her. 

“Good Lord,” Ann breathed, staring at the ceiling.

“You can call me Anne,” she teased. “Dr. Lister works too. I’ve even been called Pony in the past.”

Ann laughed and rolled over to kiss Anne lightly before standing up. Anne propped herself on her elbows, watching her go. 

“I’m not quite done with you,” she called. 

“I’ve got to hang up this dress,” Ann said over her shoulder. “I don’t want it crumpled up on the floor. It is impossible to get wrinkles out of this thing.”

Anne scoffed and settled more firmly into the mattress. There was a time Ann couldn’t be bribed to get out of bed with her, now she was hopping up to put away clothes. She supposed this was natural, as a relationship progressed, but she’d rather leave Ann too thoroughly ravished to get up, at least for a few minutes. She considered the bed beneath her – comfortable, certainly. Immense, in comparison to the old one. She could lay horizontally quite comfortably. She shifted around – diagonally too. She heard the sink running and kicked herself. She must be losing her touch if Ann can be thinking about dental health at a time like this.

She jumped up, considering the bed with her hands on her hips. She stood at the side of the bed – a good height. She thrust experimentally into the air. A very good height. She knelt, imaging Ann spread before her. This would do nicely. She pushed herself upright and went to study the footboard. A bit higher than the side of the bed, but she could still make this work. She moved her hips in that old familiar way; yes, this would work just fine. Not too much interference with the knees. She threw the sheets back and crawled in, studying the headboard. A bit higher than the old one, but not too high. She knelt on the pillows, gripped the headboard in one hand; sure, this would was good. She flexed her legs a bit, trying to mimic Ann’s height – even better, it seemed. She turned around, rolling her hips over the pillows – excellent. She spun around to inspect the space between the headboard and the wall. Less than ideal. She jostled the bed experimentally: silence. She wondered how long before the frame would loosen and give them away. 

“What are you doing?” 

Anne turned her head sharply to find Ann, completely nude, a sleep shirt in one hand and Dr. Day’s cream in the other. 

“Just inspecting.” Anne tried to swallow, but her throat was suddenly so dry. “Getting the lay of the land, if you will.”

“Okay,” Ann said slowly, her brow furrowed. “Are you finished?”

“Yes!” Anne felt foolish. “I – uh, is your back hurting?”

“Well,” Ann stepped to the side of the bed, draping her shirt over the nightstand, “I wondered if you might give me a massage. All this work I did today, and …” she trailed off, a playful quirk of the eyebrow. 

“Of course,” Anne purred, taking the cream from her and watching as she laid prone on the sheets. “You know, I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

“What do you mean?” Ann tilted her head to rest on top of her folded arms. 

“Well,” Anne moved to straddle Ann, twisting open the cream, “I thought maybe you were less than satisfied.”

“What?”

“Just now,” Anne started slow, firm pressure on her shoulders. “You hardly needed any recovery at all. That’s not like me.”

Ann laughed – a mix between surprise and incredulity. 

“You’re ridiculous, Pony. I was coming back.”

“And so you have,” Anne purred. “But I do mean to remind you how good I am tonight.” She rolled her hips into Ann’s back. “I do intend to fuck you so well and deeply and thoroughly you can’t think of anything else afterward.”

Ann exhaled roughly, and Anne felt a grin spread across her face. She made her away across Ann’s narrow back, filling the room with the smell of liniment and the sound of Ann’s quiet mews. Ann’s skin was so soft and pale, unblemished; Anne pressed kisses to the knobs of her spine, ignoring the slightly medicinal taste on her lips. She shifted further down to massage Ann’s legs, skipping over her ass entirely. She kneaded and rubbed and stroked all the way down one leg, tickled her foot until she heard breathless laughter, then repeated the process on the other leg, working her way back up. By the time she reached the crease where thigh met behind, Ann had her eyes closed and her lips parted. Anne gripped Ann’s ass lightly, bending to trace her tongue along Ann’s spine and over the two divots at the base of her back. Ann’s hips lifted, and Anne took the opportunity to slide one hand between her legs. Ann whined at the contact, and for a few moments Anne alternated between pressure on her clit and on the soft skin of her ass. 

“Don’t tease,” Ann said through gritted teeth. 

Anne slipped two fingers into her dripping core, reveling in the broken gasp she drew from Ann’s lips. She started a punishing rhythm, filling Ann over and over, until she brought her free hand to hook under the top of Ann’s thigh and pull her upward. Ann balanced shakily on her knees, shoulders now pressed into the pillow. Anne felt her own arousal pooling at the sight. She gripped Ann’s hip, steadying her, as she dipped her head to drag her tongue along Ann’s lower back, between her cheeks, and to her puckered hole. Ann shot forward at the contact, then pressed back into Anne’s mouth. It was perfect, Anne thought, filthy and indecent and sublime. Ann’s muffled moans reached her ears, and Anne knew she was close. She curled her fingers, massaging that perfect spot within Ann with every thrust, even as her tongue stroked so wantonly between her cheeks. Anne longed to feel Ann’s clit beneath her fingertips, but she couldn’t release the stabilizing grip she held on her hip. And then – Anne thrust her hand forward and felt Ann’s desperate fingers brush over her own; she was rubbing her clit so frantically that her fingers slipped over Anne’s. Anne moaned, pulling back enough to nip gently at Ann’s round cheek, and it was then that Ann shuddered, seizing and gasping and trembling. Anne straightened, loosening her grip on Ann’s hip and slowing her strokes until Ann collapsed fully. It was too much; Anne couldn’t wait. She slipped a hand into her soaked boxers, strumming her clit desperately until she, too, was gasping and shaking. She fell forward onto Ann’s slick back, and they panted in unison for a long moment. 

Finally, Anne rolled onto her side, still catching her breath. She turned her head to look at Ann, studying the mass of blonde curls at the back of her head, the perfect slope of her flushed body. Arousal stirred in her anew. She craned her neck to the new dressers, considering getting that nondescript black box, but she realized she didn’t know where Ann had put it. She could ask, sure, but that would undercut the take-charge attitude she was striving for. She thought again of Ann controlling her so effortlessly, of Marian’s comment, of her boots stowed diligently by the door. Nothing said “whipped” more than having to ask where the strap was. Ann turned her head to face her with a soft smile. 

“You are good,” she breathed. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“What?” Anne was still planning her next move. 

“You said you didn’t want me to forget how good you are. Well, I haven’t. I won’t.”

Ann reached out to trail her fingers under Anne’s sweaty shirt and across her stomach. Anne relaxed into the touch, absorbing the look of adoration on the face across from her. 

“You’d better not,” Anne teased, “but just to be sure.”

Anne rolled out of bed and onto the floor, yanking Ann to the side of the bed by her ankles. Ann shrieked joyfully then clamped her hand over her mouth, wide-eyed. Anne bent Ann’s legs, propped her at the edge of the bed, then leaned over her to kiss her soundly. Ann’s hands tangled in her hair, her knees hugging her sides, their lips sliding together in that slow, delicious, familiar way. Anne pulled away and sank to her knees, wrapping her hands around Ann’s thighs. Ann scooted to the edge of the bed. 

“You have to be quiet, darling,” Anne said softly, between kisses along the inside of Ann’s thighs. “Wouldn’t want Marian to catch us again.”

Ann’s laughter morphed into a moan when Anne dipped her head to run her tongue gently along her core. Anne was aware than Ann was likely to still be sensitive after her rather rough handling a few minutes ago, so she challenged herself to remain patient. She worshiped Ann slowly, spreading her legs wide and running her tongue along her folds, up to her clit, over to the indentation where leg met torso. Her hands squeezed Ann’s hips rhythmically, delighting in the malleability of her smooth skin. Anne brought her lips together to ghost wet kisses along Ann’s center, dipping her tongue into her core just briefly. Ann placed one hand over Anne’s on her hip, gripping her fingers tightly; Anne felt a surge in her chest at this unexpected connection. Ann’s other hand pressed at the back of her head, urging Anne on. 

“Right there,” her voice was so soft Anne almost missed it. “That’s – oh fuck, that’s – go back to – yes, Pony, yes, right th- Pony please, I need you.” 

Ann now bordered on whining, so Anne took pity on her. She lapped feverishly at Ann’s core, tightening her grip on her hip and her hand. She dragged her tongue through her wetness, up to her clit, then closed her lips around it. Ann’s fingers wrapped around her hair, her hips struggling against Anne’s steady hand. Anne sucked lightly at her clit, grazed her teeth over the hard nub, then – it was over. Ann was arching backward, mumbling and gasping, her hands locking Anne in place. Anne stroked her gently through her release, until those hands fell away. Anne heaved herself upright, stretching her neck and back; perhaps she was getting a bit old for this position. 

Ann’s hand fluttered helplessly in the air for her; Anne took it and fell into bed next to her. Ann opened her eyes slowly, then rolled onto her side to rest half her weight on Anne and to catch her in a slow kiss; her hand trailed into Anne’s boxers, and Anne lifted her hips in gratitude. Ann’s fingers were perfection – insistent but even in their pressure, circling Anne’s clit with deadly precision. This exquisite attention combined with Ann’s tongue probing her mouth had her hips bucking embarrassingly fast. Anne broke the kiss to breathe, panting heavily as Ann kissed her jaw and pressed more firmly on her bundle of nerves. Anne felt that warmth spreading in her gut when Ann spoke. 

“Open your eyes.”

Anne forced her eyes open, meeting Ann’s soft, loving gaze, and she was gone. She shuddered, back arching, as Ann eased her through her orgasm. She collapsed into the sheets, a soft whine escaping her. Ann slid her hand out from her boxers, then lifted the elastic waistband and let it snap back against Anne’s stomach.

“How are you still wearing so many clothes, Pony?”

“More important things to do,” Anne shrugged.

“Take it off,” Ann whispered, her eyes dancing. 

“Now hold on, since when are you in charge of everything around here?” Anne dared. 

“You don’t want to take your clothes off?” Ann tilted her head in confusion. Was she teasing? Anne couldn’t tell. 

“I do,” Anne said forcefully. “But it’s my choice.”

“Of course it is, darling,” Ann had the tone of obliging schoolteacher. 

“Am I whipped?” Anne ran her hand up and down Ann’s back, enjoying the weight of Ann on top of her. 

“Is this about what Marian said?”

“No!” Anne bit her lip. “Yes. And the boots.”

“I think,” Ann traced one fingertip over Anne’s sternum, “you are a very wise woman who listens to her fiancée.”

“Does that make me whipped though?”

“Does it matter? Have I ever suggested you do something that was wrong? Or that hurt you?”

“No,” Anne said thoughtfully.

“What does it matter then? You are absolutely in charge in every aspect of your life, and I love you for it.” Ann pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “But you also listen to me. I love you even more for that.”

Anne stretched her neck to catch Ann’s lips in a fierce kiss. What a stupid thing to be worried about, she thought. Maybe she was whipped. It didn’t mean anything. She loved Ann, and she would do anything she said. There was no changing that. Might as well lean into it. 

“Ask me again,” Ann whispered, pulling back.

“What?”

“Ask me that question again.”

“Am I whipped?” Anne furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Would you like to be?” Ann waggled her eyebrows. 

Anne threw her head back and laughed – a big, full-bodied guffaw. No, it didn’t matter at all. Ann Walker had complete, absolute, infinite power over her. She didn’t mind one bit. 

“Now, Pony, take off your clothes,” Ann traced her finger along Anne’s jawline, “and make love to me in our brand-new bed.”

Anne pecked one last kiss to Ann’s lips, then shoved her playfully off. She scrambled out of bed and tore off her last remaining pieces of clothing. Ann settled back into the pillows, studying Anne’s form with such a ravenous look Anne almost felt shy. She crawled back into bed, hovering over Ann, kissing her deeply before pressing her left leg backward; she intertwined their legs and aligned their cores. Ann’s voice was soft as she reached out to touch Anne’s bicep.

“This time, could I – could I be on top?”

Anne felt as if shed entered an alternate universe. Her jaw dropped, her brow furrowed, her mind raced. After the discussion they’d just had, did Ann really mean to – oh, she was laughing. Ann was laughing at her. 

“You should see your face, Pony!” Ann ran her hand around Anne’s shoulder and squeezed.

The vibrations of her laughter reverberated over Anne’s center, and she couldn’t think of anything else. Anne rolled her hips purposefully, grinning at the broken moan escaping the woman below her. She started a gentle rhythm, dropping her head to suck at Ann’s pulse point. Their cores slipped against each other, producing the dirtiest and most divine sounds. Ann’s hands were grasping more desperately, pulling Anne impossibly closer. Anne shifted to allow one hand between them, fingertips strumming over Ann’s clit. They ground together like that for a few long minutes; the wet connection of their skin and the faint pant of their breath the only sounds in the room. Everything was hot, slick, hungry; Anne felt her need for Ann in her bones, their connection as visceral as the blood in their veins. Anne sped up incrementally until Ann seized and gasped. Anne rubbed her own clit frantically, shuddering over the edge as Ann whimpered and mumbled below her. Anne collapsed onto her, and they rode the waves out together. 

Eventually, Anne pulled away and stood, admiring a spent, flushed, gasping Ann. She pressed a soft kiss to her lips then padded into the bathroom. By the time she’d completed her nightly ritual, stepped into pajamas, and returned, Ann’s only progress had been to open her eyes and fling one arm out, helplessly reaching for her nightshirt. Haven’t lost it after all, Anne thought in smug satisfaction. She crawled into bed and kissed Ann’s cheek, which seemed to rouse her from her postcoital stupor. 

“I love you so much,” Ann breathed, still out of breath. 

“I love you.” 

Anne reached across her for her nightshirt and helped her slip it over her head. Ann sighed back into the pillows, her eyes already drooping. 

“And look, Adney, if you want to be on top when we do that sometime, that’s fine, really, it takes some practice, but that’s –”

“No, no, no,” Ann laughed. “I was kidding.”

“Really, I don’t mind; I’m not trying to –”

“It’s not that,” Ann said, rolling onto her side and clicking off the light.

“What is it?”

“I don’t have the core strength.”

Anne laughed and pounced on her, pulling Ann flush to her front and kissing her neck. Ann giggled and pressed back into her. Anne held her tightly for a moment, willing herself to imprint this moment, this exact sensation into her brain. She pulled the covers over them; her eyes drifted closed to the even rhythm of Ann’s breathing, her thoughts musing over the difference a new bed can make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Anne's bed inspection based on that deleted scene they posted for ALBW when Anne was climbing all over the carriage while Thomas is like "you did WHAT to the last groom?" Anne made me laugh so hard in that. 
> 
> Anyway! This has been one of my favorite chapters to write, but I'm anxious to hear your thoughts. What do we think? More stuff like this? Too much smut lately? I wonder sometimes if I use the smut as a crutch to show the way they feel about each other, rather than other ways of expressing love. Or who cares because that's what we're here for? I don't mind either way, just interested to know if you have an opinion. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and kudos-ing and commenting. I am immensely grateful.


	10. Thursday Morning

Anne was already dressed and hunched over her journal at her vanity-turned-desk when Ann opened her eyes. She felt deliciously sore, her limbs still heavy from the night before. She stretched and mewed softly; Anne whipped around with a grin. She stood and closed the distance between them in a few strides, perching near Ann’s knees on the bed. Ann sat up and tilted her chin. They kissed once, gently; Anne pulled away, but Ann wrapped a hand behind her neck and brought her back in for one more. 

“Good morning,” Anne purred as they broke away. 

“Good morning,” Ann couldn’t suppress her sleepy smile. “What time is it?”

“10:38.”

“What?” All residual grogginess left her body at once. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were sleeping so peacefully, and I figured you were tired.” Anne winked. 

“I missed breakfast!” Ann’s heart was racing, her anxiety skyrocketing. 

“Oh, nobody cares,” Anne’s hand ran up her leg to her knee and squeezed. “Marian’s got it in her head that you threw your back out arranging all this furniture.”

“Do they think I’m just terribly rude?”

“No,” Anne drawled. “They spent all morning extolling your many virtues and berating me for not appreciating you more.”

“They have a point,” she playfully nudged Anne’s hip with her knee.

“Which is why,” Anne nudged her back, “I have packed us a lunch and have a bit of a picnic planned.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am. When you’re ready.”

Ann leapt to her feet, leaving a laughing Anne in her wake. She dressed quickly – yellow shorts with tiny daisies embroidered on them, a white t-shirt, and sneakers; she wasn’t sure what Anne had in mind, but she was trying to follow her lead. She was formidable in her black t-shirt, hiking boots, and black shorts. Ann had never seen the older woman in shorts (other than her boxers) and the sight of this Hiking-Guide-Anne was very exciting. 

“Ready!” Ann shimmied her shoulders. 

“Excellent,” Anne snapped her journal closed.

They made their way downstairs, offering pleasantries to the family before stepping out into the warm, late-morning sun. Anne had retrieved an overstuffed backpack and slung it over her shoulder; Ann took her hand and intertwined their fingers. 

“What’s in there?” Ann asked, taking her hand as they walked through the grass.

“Lunch. And surprises.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Ann tutted, but said nothing. She could tell Anne was excited, but she seemed nervous as well. Where was Anne leading her? A patch of trees lay dead ahead; surely Anne didn’t mean to take her into the woods on this bright day. Ann hazarded a look at her fiancée – positively buzzing with excitement, but silent. Unusual. They got closer to the tree line. 

“Are we going into those woods?” 

“Yes,” Anne squeezed her hand. 

Anne led her to a freshly-beaten path in the underbrush; this must have been how Anne got so filthy yesterday. They walked slowly into the cool air under the tall trees; the only sound was that of their feet crunching leaves and sticks. It was darker in these woods, less light reaching the ground; Ann wondered if there were animals out here. She studied Anne’s profile as they delved deeper; what the hell was she so excited about? Then, Anne’s face lit up, and the light shifted. It was suddenly just as bright as when they’d entered the forest. Anne turned to look at her, then tilted her head in front of them. Ann turned her head. 

There, just off-center of this small clearing, was a cottage. Properly quaint – stone walls, thatched roof, little flowerbox in the window. Two wooden lounge chairs stretched to one side, a small, iron table and two rickety chairs on the other. Ann’s jaw fell open, her eyes widening; she loved it instantly. She turned to look at Anne, her expression a question. 

“It’s a chaumière, but, more importantly, it’s secluded and private and furnished and heated, and – and the light is lovely all day. I was out here yesterday, and it’s just perfect right here in this clearing. It’s not far from the house, but no one would bother you. And you could – you could – well, I thought it might make a rather nice studio for you. You had said you didn’t have any place to call your own, and I want this to be yours. You can do whatever you like with it, and I won’t –”

Ann crashed into her, diving into her arms and capturing her lips. Anne’s eyes widened in surprise, but soon she was meeting Ann’s lips with equal fervor. The kiss was even parts gratitude, relief, excitement, and that undercurrent of electricity that passed between them every time they touched. Anne pulled away, and Ann whined at the loss. 

“I want to show the inside,” Anne breathed. 

Ann nodded and followed her to the rustic door. Inside she found a loveseat across from a stone fireplace, a wide table under a high window, and an easel; the room wasn’t large, but the lighting really was excellent. She opened her mouth to speak, but Anne pulled her to the wall on the left-hand side of the cottage. Two doors gave way to bathroom and to a tiny bedroom. Ann’s mouth went dry; they could be as loud as they wanted here. 

“It used to be the caretaker’s cottage, years ago. It’s small, but maybe we can expand it once this is all over? We could add on a room, or tear down this wall to–”

“No!” Ann caught herself. “This is perfect. Just the way it is. I love it.”

Anne looked to the floor bashfully. She slid the backpack from her shoulder as if she’d only just remembered it. 

“I packed up your art supplies. I couldn’t fit the easel in my bag, so – well, anyway, here it is.” She started laying out Ann’s sketchpads, pencils, paints, brushes. Ann realized that’s why she couldn’t find any of it yesterday. “Not that you can’t draw or paint in the house, but – I guess I thought this would be a good refuge for you. Someplace quiet. Someplace that is totally your own.”

Ann took Anne’s hands, bringing her attention away from the art supplies she was pulling from her bag; she tried to convey her gratitude and adoration through her eyes. She felt on the verge of tears, though she couldn’t understand why. Anne had given her so much already, and now she was giving her more. Ann caught her lips, leading them in a slow kiss, trying to express her feelings as she figured them out herself. Anne made her feel bold, brave, larger than herself; she expanded her world over and over. Ann felt infinitely stronger now - physically, emotionally, mentally. It was Anne; it was all Anne. She pulled away, fixing Ann with a look that made her chest ache. 

“Hey. Hey, don’t cry,” Anne swiped at her cheeks with her thumbs. “You can tell me if you don’t like it.”

Ann wiped her nose with the back of her hand, unaware she’d even started crying. She eased herself into the hard chair next to the table, and Anne crouched in front of her. 

“What is it?” Anne asked, her hands curling under Ann’s knees. 

“I just love you so much.”

“I know that,” Anne pressed a kiss to the top of her knee.

“I don’t think you do,” Ann wiped her eyes again, unable to steady her breathing or stop the flow of tears. 

“I do. Because I love you too.”

“No, Anne,” she protested. “You don’t get it. You can’t know what it’s like for me. How much I feel for you, and how – God, how I can never express it. I can’t find the right words. I’m not clever enough. I can’t – I want you to know how much I love you, and you never will, and that makes me so sad, and –”

“Hold on, hold on,” Anne settled on her knees between Ann’s legs, covering Ann’s shaking hands with her own. “I think I do know. When you look at me across the table, and you do this thing with your nose. I can feel it then. When you wake up in the morning, and you always want two kisses instead of just one. I know how you feel. When you hold my hand and the nail on your little finger pokes my skin because you’re holding on so tightly. Do I need to go on? We’ll be here all day.”

Ann shook her head, inhaling deeply for the first time. Anne pressed a kiss to the back of each hand, then sat back on her heels. Even now, she was waiting patiently. Ann wiped her face once more, then bent down to kiss Anne again, still holding one of her hands in her own. Anne’s free hand cradled her face, and Ann let herself relax into her gentle touch. 

“Let’s have lunch, hmm?” Anne said quietly when they parted. 

“You don’t eat lunch.”

“I have decided to make a special exception for you,” Anne stood, brushing off her knees. “Just this once, Miss Walker. Don’t get used to it.”

Ann laughed and followed her outside. They sat next to each other at the iron table, facing out into the trees. Anne unpacked two sandwiches and two small, glass containers: one of crisps, the other of strawberries. 

“You should have heard the grief Marian was giving me,” Anne said as they ate. “You’d think I never made a meal before.”

“Why don’t you cook more? For your family, I mean.”

“We have a cook,” Anne shrugged.

“How did you learn?”

“Uni. I couldn’t always afford to eat very well, so I taught myself to cook. Then I went to Paris, I used cooking as a – well,” Anne chuckled, “it was good ploy to get girls to my apartment.”

“You scoundrel,” Ann laughed and nudged Anne’s shoulder. 

“It works,” Anne winked as she popped a strawberry in her mouth, and Ann felt her face grow hot. “Only took one meal to get in your knickers.”

“We didn’t shag after our first meal!” Ann protested.

“Yes, we did!” 

“No, my love. You tried, but I started crying,” Ann said proudly. “We didn’t shag until the next day.”

“That’s right,” Anne said thoughtfully. She paused, then: “You got me rather worked up that night; I got confused.”

“Did I?” Ann grinned, reveling in this confession. 

“I went back to my room, and I talked to my aunt. And then I – well, I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

“What’d you do about it?” 

“Nothing,” Anne flushed.

“Liar,” Ann squeezed her knee. “What’d you do, Pony?”

“I got in bed, and,” Anne bit her lip, “after a while I fell asleep.”

“Did you – touch yourself?” Ann’s body grew warm at the very thought. 

“Yes,” Anne breathed. “I tried not to. I thought it was unfair. Too early. But – I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t get your face out of mind; my hands could still feel your skin. I tried not to, but every time I closed my eyes, there you were.”

Ann crashed their lips together, kissing Anne roughly for a beat before breaking away.

“Only you,” she laughed, “could say something so romantic about having a wank.”

Anne threw her head back and laughed as well, packing up the remnants of their lunch and stowing them in her backpack.

“What else have you got in there?”

“A few books, bug spray, water bottles…” Anne trailed off with a shrug.

“And here I thought you might have brought something naughty,” Ann dared. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t been thinking of all the things they could do in this secluded space. 

“I thought about it!” Anne chuckled. “But I didn’t want to, you know, give you this space and say that it’s all for you and then – you know, and then bend you over in it.”

Ann tried to laugh, but she found she had no breath in her body. 

“Besides, I made this to be your studio. I don’t want to force myself in and – well, the point is, this is a space for you. If you want to invite me in for,” Anne paused, “something like that, that’s one thing. But only at your invitation.”

Ann felt another surge of appreciation for her fiancée. When was the last time someone had been so considerate of her feelings, her time, her space? Anne hovered in the doorway:

“What now?”

“Could we sit out here?” Ann rose and gestured to the lounge chairs. “It’s such a beautiful day, and I could sketch, and you could read, and –” Ann shrugged. 

Anne wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist and kissed her lightly, then brushed past her to spread out on one of the chairs. Her legs were so long and lean and tan that Ann felt nearly faint. She swallowed dryly and retrieved her supplies. Anne was already absorbed in her book by the time Ann sat down. She spread her pencils and paints out carefully on the arms of her chair, scanning the area for a subject. 

She sketched the trees for a while. Flipped to a new page. She sketched her legs, stretched out in front of her on the chair. Flipped to a new page. She sketched her feet and Anne’s, which seemed, even at rest, to represent their owners; her own legs were crossed demurely at the ankle, sneaker-clad feet close together, while Anne’s legs were spread wide, one leg bent with boot resting flat on the chair, the other stretched out and dangling over the edge. She was pretty happy with this one and turned to show it to Anne. Who was asleep. Book on her chest, eyes closed, mouth hanging open. She was asleep. Ann smiled and shifted to study her. 

Anne’s head had fallen back against the slatted wood, exposing her long neck; her hair was pulled back, but the angle of her head had pushed the based of her ponytail up, spreading her hair above her head like a crown. Her plain black t-shirt rose only slightly over her small breasts, covered by the hardback that had fallen to her chest; one hand still rested along the spine. Ann picked up her pencil, sketching faintly. Anne’s toned stomach gave way to the sharp angles of her waistband; she almost always tucked her t-shirts in, which only accentuated her fit body. Her shorts fell to mid-thigh, and her tanned legs stretched for miles, forming a figure-four; the foot of one bent leg met the calf of the other, which pointed straight ahead. Ann finished the outline, then quietly opened her paints, trying not to rouse the beast.

With every stroke of her brush, Ann attempted to capture the feelings that had eluded her earlier. She needed Anne to know how she felt, how she treasured every moment they spent together, how miraculous Anne was to her, even in sleep. She wasn’t as articulate as Anne; she could never list the physical expressions of Anne’s love, like Anne did hers, but she felt them just as strongly. Especially in moments like this. Anne was harsh, commanding, domineering, brusque almost always. But with Ann, she was soft, gentle, patient, kind. She spent an entire day restoring a painting studio for her future wife. She cut the tops off strawberries, sliced them in half, put them in a glass container for a picnic lunch. She fell asleep in the sun on the weekday. She showed Ann how she felt all the time. 

Ann fine-tuned her painting, adding in a bit of background, a little shadow here, some light here. It was good. She was pleased with it. Anne had her words, but she had her art. Maybe if she could capture all the things she loved about Anne and wrestle them down with paint, she could say all the things her tongue could not. Maybe. 

Ann set aside her painting and turned to a new page, sketching absentmindedly – a bird, a lizard, a crooked branch. Soon Anne was stirring beside her, smacking her lips and stretching. 

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did.” Ann presented the painting, feeling every bit the eager student. 

Anne took it, eyes flicking from the page to Ann and back again. She bit her lip, but Ann could see her chin tremble. She was silent for a long time. Ann wondered if she understood, if she would see what Ann was trying to express. Anne looked up, finally, her dark eyes boring into Ann’s. Ann raised her eyebrows apprehensively. 

“I love you too,” Anne whispered. 

The tension left Ann’s body; she exhaled in relief. Anne understood. She understood everything. Ann tilted her chin, and Anne leaned forward to catch her lips. They kissed tenderly for a beat, before Anne pulled away. 

“Damn it!” she grinned ruefully. “Ann Walker. You unhinge me every time. I can’t believe it.”

“Get used to it,” Ann teased. “I was thinking…”

“Yes?” Anne purred, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Could we go for a drive? You said you’d teach me, and we have the whole afternoon, so,” Ann shrugged. 

“Oh yeah,” Anne’s face lit up; she had that fiendish grin on. “Let’s fog up some windows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate your feedback, especially on that last chapter when I was asking for some guidance. Y'all make me a better writer all the time. I hope you're all staying healthy and safe out there!
> 
> Y'all like how I took one of the most heart-wrenching lines from this show and made it about masturbating? I can't stop myself.


	11. Thursday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed the editing of this a bit, so please forgive any mistakes. It's filthy, so hopefully that makes up for it?

Anne’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the handle over the window; Ann’s sharp turn had sent her toward the middle console again. Ann giggled nervously and straightened the wheel, returning them to the gravel road on the outskirts of the Walker estate. 

“Whoops,” she shot a glance at Anne. 

“You’re doing fine, Adney,” Anne forced herself to breathe evenly. “This car will go wherever you point it. It’ll float. Treat the wheel like it’s in mud or quicksand. Real slow movements.”

Ann nodded, squinting in absolute focus. Anne couldn’t help smiling at her earnest concentration. She was trying so hard. They had hopped in Ann’s Range Rover forty minutes ago, and Anne had shown her the very basics. She’d driven them out to the border between their estates and parked, asking Ann if she felt ready to try. This part of the property was scarcely populated anyway, and now even less populated with the lockdown. The gravel paths curved and sloped, but they were in no real danger. It was a good spot to practice. Ann had scooted the driver’s seat so close to the wheel Anne felt certain she would run into it; Ann had laughed and slapped her arm when she said as much. Now Anne sat in the passenger seat, enthralled and terrified. 

“How am I doing?” Ann asked the windshield.

“You’re doing great. Do you want to try reversing?”

Ann slammed on brakes, sending Anne into the dashboard. 

“You know what,” Anne said as she straightened, "let’s work on slowing down and speeding up.”

Anne braced her free arm on the dashboard, the other still holding firm to the handlebar above the window. Ann sped up gently, then slammed on the brakes again. Anne held herself upright. Ann shot her a look.

“I’m not very good at this, am I?”

“No, darling, you’re doing fine. Press on the brakes really slowly, like there’s an egg under the pedal.”

“An egg?” Ann was so incredulous she turned to face Anne, taking her foot from the brake and causing the car to drift forward. She turned back suddenly and slammed her foot down. Anne jerked.

“An egg. Like a hard-boiled egg. If you press on it gently, the shell will crack and you can peel it, right?” Ann nodded. “If you press on it really hard, it’ll burst and your car will smell like rotten eggs.” 

Ann laughed and shifted around in her seat, flexing her hands over the wheel. She pressed the gas tentatively. 

“Very good,” Anne encouraged. “Try slowing down, just a little.”

Ann eased on the brakes, and the car came to a slow stop. 

“Yes!” Anne cried. “That was perfect!”

Ann spun around with a grin, but the car shifted forward again. She slammed her foot down; Anne jostled forward. 

“I keep forgetting that.”

“It’s okay. Let’s try a few more times.”

Ann repeated this procedure several times, with increasing ease. She was smiling now, enjoying it. Anne had never been so proud. She reached over to squeeze Ann’s thigh in encouragement.

“You’re a pro! Let’s try reversing.”

Ann slowed the car to a stop, reaching out for the dial gear shift between them. 

“See, this is nice, because it’s just like adjusting the radio or turning down the volume. Just hold down on the break and turn.”

Anne watched Ann’s tentative fingers do just that, the monitor in the center of the dashboard showing the backup camera. 

“And this,” Anne laughed, “is why we took your car. You don’t even have to worry. Check your mirrors, check outside, but mostly you can just pay attention to that little screen.”

“So what do I do? Do I hit the gas like –”

“No!” Anne cut her off. “No, just ease off the break.”

Ann did, and they rolled backward slowly for a moment. Then they came to a stop.

“Perfect! You’re doing so well, darling.” Ann flushed at the compliment. “Try turning while you back up. It’s a little different. You have to turn the wheel the way you want the back of the car to go, okay? Kind of the opposite of where the front will go. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“Okay, look,” Anne reached across and tilted the wheel toward the passenger side. “Now ease off.” Ann did, and the car slid backward. 

“Oh!” Ann’s eyes lit up. “Okay, okay.”

“You try.”

Ann backed them around in circles, zigzags, curlicues. She shifted into drive and took them down the winding path a bit further. They found themselves at the end of the gravel, overlooking the rolling acres below. Ann parked the car, then shifted in her seat to face her passenger.

“How’d I do?”

“You did amazingly well,” Anne praised, noticing the flush return to Ann’s cheeks. Interesting. “You’re such a good driver.” She dropped her voice. “A natural.”

Ann nodded, breathing heavily now. 

“You’ve been a very good girl, Adney. You’ve done so well.” Anne purred, loving the effect her words were having on the younger woman. “Come here, so I can give you your reward.”

Ann’s brow furrowed for a moment, then she was scrambling over the middle console and into Anne’s lap. Anne laughed at her haste, but she was soon cut off by Ann’s insistent lips. Ann tangled her hands in Anne’s hair, slipping her tongue between her lips in desperation. Anne gripped her hips, guiding them to grind against her lap. It was cramped, in the front seat like this, but Anne couldn’t wait. She flicked open Ann’s shorts and shoved her hand in her panties; Ann broke the kiss at the first touch to her clit.

“You’re so wet,” Anne breathed in her ear. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” Ann nodded, eyes closed tight as she rutted into Anne’s hand. “You did so well today. You’re such a good painter. A good driver. A good fuck–”

Ann crashed their lips back together, her hips moving frantically against Anne’s fingertips. Anne pressed harder, strumming her clit faster, until Ann broke away to pant into her shoulder. 

“I think you like being told how good you are.” 

Ann could only whimper in response.

“I think it makes you wet.”

Ann bit her neck with a whine. 

“I think you’re going to come for me. Are you?” 

Ann nodded, her slick forehead pressed into Anne’s shoulder. 

“Come on, be a good girl, and come for me.”

“Yes,” Ann seized, her hips bucking out of rhythm. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Anne pressed a kiss behind Ann’s ear as she stroked the last waves of pleasure from her. She slipped her hand from between her legs and wiped it on her thigh. Ann caught her breath, then raised her   
head to meet Anne’s gaze. They kissed languidly for a beat. 

“Want to try the backseat?” Ann’s eyes danced at the suggestion. 

“Yeah,” Anne breathed, shoving the door open.

Ann tumbled out, and Anne followed her. Ann cracked open the rear door, but Anne went to the back of the car. She opened the hatch and laid the rear seats down flat; it really was quite spacious. 

“You don’t mess around do you?” Ann teased.

“I thought it might be more comfortable.”

“So considerate,” Ann said in exaggerated gratitude. 

“I try,” Anne doffed an invisible hat. 

Ann clambered into the back, leaving the rear door open as she unlaced her boots. She sat with her back against the driver’s seat, her legs stretched in front of her. Anne crawled in and closed the hatch behind her; it was unlikely anyone would come out this way, but it wasn’t impossible. She would hate to be caught in the act, in the car, in a field, in the middle of the afternoon. Ann glanced meaningfully at her boots, and Anne, rolling her eyes, unlaced them and stuck them in the front passenger seat. Anne studied the backseat. It was a bit cramped, but she could make this work. She pulled Ann to the center of the space, laying her flat on her back, knees bent; Anne knelt over her and caught her lips in a slow kiss. Ann reached up to drape her arms around Anne’s neck, and for a several minutes they just kissed. Their bodies moved in sync without any urgency. Anne felt like a teenager. 

Eventually, Ann’s hands untucked her shirt and ran across her back. Anne took this as a signal to move along, so she trailed her lips along Ann’s neck, bunching her shirt up over bra. Ann whined at the first pass of Anne’s tongue over the swell of her breast, her hands reaching into her hair. Anne eased her breast from her bra, circling her nipple with her tongue, catching it between her lips, grazing it with her teeth. Ann shifted her hips below her, pressing into Anne’s stomach. Anne nipped at her breast, then moved to the other. She repeated the process, adoring the soft mews and gasps falling from Ann’s lips. 

Then she slid her mouth lower, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the center of her stomach, to the waistband of her shorts. She eased them down Ann’s legs, then caught the elastic of her panties between her teeth.

“Fuck, Pony,” Ann breathed, as Anne dragged the lace down her legs. 

“I will,” Anne nipped Ann’s hipbone.

She dipped her head to inhale the heady scent of Ann’s arousal, taking a moment to thank the Good Lord for bringing her to this exact moment. Then she swiped her tongue across Ann’s slick center, grinning as she felt those pale fingers curling in her hair. She teased Ann’s folds for a long while, running her tongue up and down, dipping into her core only for a moment. Ann’s hips were rolling gently into her face now; Anne could tell she was trying to control them, and she loved her for trying. She loved her even more for her complete failure at it. 

Anne settled more fully on her belly, then wrapped her hands around Ann’s hips. 

“Are you ready?” she breathed against Ann’s center. 

“Yes, Pony, yes, please,” Ann was breathless, desperate, perfect. 

Anne stroked her tongue along Ann’s clit, circling lightly, before returning her center. She followed this pattern – up, around, down, – slowly at first, then with increasing speed and pressure. Soon she was sucking Ann’s clit between her lips, her fingers digging into Ann’s hips, pulling her closer, needing to devour her, consume her, hold her very essence on her tongue. Ann’s pants were growing ragged, her incoherent mumbling frantic, her dripping arousal coating Anne’s chin. Finally, she shuddered, her breath coming in choked gasps. Anne eased her down gently, unwilling to give her up just yet. 

“C’mere,” Ann whispered, still out of breath. 

Anne wiped her mouth and crawled up to lay on her side next to Ann. Ann kissed her, moaning at the taste of herself on Anne’s tongue. She undid Anne’s shorts and pushed them roughly down. 

“Come up here.” Ann tilted her head back, her eyes full of mischief.

Anne looked up at the roof of the car, gauging the height. She considered her creaky hips, her sore knees last night. She sighed.

“I can’t. I won’t – I mean, I’m too tall.”

“I don’t think so,” Ann squinted. 

“I – I just can’t, okay? It’s fine,” Anne reached for her shorts. 

“Why can’t you? You don’t want to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to – God, of course I want to,” Anne chuckled. “I’m – well, I’m too old. I can’t – I don’t think I can hold myself up.”

“What?” Ann said in one swift exhale, incredulous. 

“I’m afraid I –” Anne dropped her head, embarrassed. 

“Hold on,” Ann grabbed her chin, forcing Anne to meet her gaze. “If you don’t want to – you know, like that – that’s fine, but – I don’t think you’re too old. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever seen. And you can rest your weight on the front seat.”

Anne tilted her head, considering.

“How about this?” Ann offered. “If you feel a little tired or like you want to move, just tell me. I don't mind. We can just find something else. Okay?”

Anne nodded.

“But right now,” Ann ran a fingertip along Anne’s jawline, “I need to taste you so badly I can hardly think.”

Anne laughed, breathless, and shoved her shorts and boxers off. She crawled forward, positioning herself over Ann; she breathed deeply to calm her nerves at being so exposed. She tried to quiet the old, instinctive voice inside her mind telling her to shut down, raise her walls, hide from this. She rested her forearms on the front seats and found it actually was quite comfortable. Ann was right. Of course.

Before she could dwell on this, however, Ann’s mouth was on her. Anne exhaled sharply, her head falling forward. Her hips started rolling gently over Ann’s face. Every touch to her center was electric; she could feel warmth radiating across her body with every stroke. Ann’s soft hands ran over her ass, across her lower back; the press of her skin was reassuring and tender. Anne closed her eyes, losing herself to Ann’s divine ministrations. She left her body and saw them from above; Anne hunched over the center console, lips parted, chest heaving, with Ann stretched below her, nearly naked from Anne’s attention moments earlier. The image of them together was too much. It was filthy. It was erotic. It was absurd – they were in the backseat of a car for God’s sake. She almost laughed, but then Ann’s tongue flicked her clit more steadily, making her gasp instead; she felt herself climbing that rapturous ladder to her release. Ann was patient, easing Anne up every rung without rush or urgency. Anne felt herself reach the edge, and Ann kept her there for a long moment, circling her clit teasingly. 

“Please,” Anne managed.

That was all it took. Ann pressed her tongue roughly, and Anne shot over the precipice. She slumped forward with a shudder, her hips bucking over Ann’s face. Ann’s soft tongue stroked her gently, until, finally, Anne shifted off of her and collapsed backward, her head landing near Ann’s feet. She panted at the ceiling, catching her breath.

“Still think you’re too old?” Ann teased, her hand running up Anne’s bare calf. 

“Jesus, Ann, maybe.” Anne laughed. She twisted her hip, and a loud pop filled the car. They both laughed. 

“I like this car,” Ann said thoughtfully. “James convinced me to get it, but I never knew how important cargo space was.”

“Oh yeah,” Anne said seriously, her hand trailing up Ann’s leg, mirroring Ann’s above. “If I ever get a new car, I’m getting one like this.”

“What kind of car do you drive normally?”

“An old Jeep. Damn thing drinks gas, but it runs like a dream.”

“You could get a new one.”

“Nah,” Anne tried to brush it off.

“Why not?” Ann pressed.

“It was my brother’s. I can’t – I don’t want to give it up.”

“Oh.” 

Silence hung between them; both women stared upward, their hands still tracing each other’s calves. 

“When he died, I –”

“I understand.” 

Anne swallowed, breathing through her knee-jerk reaction that no one could understand what Sam had meant to her, what his death took from her. She breathed deeply, grounding herself on the feeling of Ann’s skin and remembering Ann had a dead brother too. She did understand. 

“Do you want to go back?” Ann’s voice was gentle.

“No. Not yet.”

“Okay.”

For several minutes, they lay there like that: not speaking, communicating only through light touches of hand on leg. Anne saw them from above again – half-naked, head-to-foot, her on the verge of tears. She started laughing. Ann’s hand froze.

“What?”

“It’s – God, we’re something aren’t we?” Anne was still laughing.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re sat here, in the middle of the afternoon, in the back of a car, in a field, fannies out, just staring at the ceiling. I’m thinking about my brother, and it’s just occurred to me how funny he would think this is.”

“Really?” Ann’s voice had the hint of a chuckle.

“It’s ridiculous!” Anne laughed.

Ann joined her, and soon they were in hysterics, filling the car with their joyful laughter.

“There’s a joke in here, somewhere,” Anne said thoughtfully, “about lesbians and crying and cars and 69…but I can’t –” she clicked her tongue, “I can’t quite verbalize it.”

“Why haven’t we ever done that?” Ann’s fingernails raked up her calf. 

“What?” Anne was still thinking of her joke. 

“A – what you said, just now.”

“69?” Anne was incredulous, but her gut stirred at the thought.

“Yeah,” Ann said quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Anne considered. “It’s not really a favorite of mine, but – I mean, if you wanted to…”

“Only if you wanted to.”

“Oh, Miss Walker,” Anne grinned, “you’ll be the death of me yet.”

Anne turned her head and nipped Ann’s leg playfully. She swung her leg over Ann’s face, aligning their bodies. Not for the first time that day, she felt like a ridiculous teenager. She kissed Ann’s thigh.

“Ready?” 

“Any advice?” Ann tried to joke, but Anne could hear the undercurrent of nerves.

“It’s all for fun,” Anne said against her skin. “You can’t do it wrong. I love you.”

With that, Anne dropped her head and started her gentle strokes. She jolted slightly at the press of Ann’s wet mouth on her core, but she pressed back into it. Ann was eager, her hands gripping Anne’s hips and pulling her down. It had been a long time, and Anne found it rather hard to focus. She was used to controlling every aspect of her sexual encounters, but Ann’s enthusiastic ministrations caught her off-guard. She worked diligently between Ann’s legs, desperate to bring the younger woman to orgasm first. She considered it poor manners and a serious embarrassment to finish first. 

Ann must have had a similar thought, however, because she started moving against Anne frantically. Anne lost herself to the physicality of it, to the slick press of their bodies meeting, to the tangy taste of Ann on her lips, to the electricity shooting from Ann’s tongue to her clit. She no longer formed thoughts; her body was nothing more than a conduit for pleasure – drinking it in and pouring it back into Ann. Ann’s thighs started to tense, and Anne grinned into her center. She flicked Ann’s clit desperately, reveling in the warm familiarity of Ann’s release washing over her. The younger woman trembled below her, faint cries escaping her lips, her breath hot against Anne's core. Anne rolled off and fell onto her back, dropping her hand between her legs and rubbing furiously. She came almost immediately, gasping Ann’s name. They stayed like that for a beat, allowing their heartrates to slow. Ann wrapped her hand under Anne’s knee and pulled; Anne, taking the hint, crawled forward to catch Ann in a tender kiss before rolling onto her back. Ann curled into her side and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. 

“If I’d known how much fun driving would be, I would’ve done it a lot sooner.” Ann laughed breathlessly. Anne chuckled and shook her head. 

“For my sake, I’m glad you didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of your comments. Thank you for sticking with me and giving me your feedback. I can't tell you how much it means to me.


	12. Thursday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry y'all...this is very dirty...it just happened.

“Fancy a walk?” Ann asked, trailing her hand over Anne’s back, bent over the dishwasher. 

“Sure,” Anne straightened. “Where to?”

“I was thinking,” Ann tilted her head, “how comfortable that little chaumière is.”

“Okay,” Anne shrugged, drying her hands. She wasn’t picking up on Ann’s meaning. 

“Maybe,” Ann lowered her voice, “you could run upstairs, pack us a little bag, and we’ll see how – how loud we can get.”

“Oh,” Anne’s jaw fell open. “Okay. Okay, yeah, sure, yes.” She was nodding seriously now. “I’ll get – uh, I’ll pack a few things.”

“Perfect,” Ann kissed her cheek.

“Wait,” Anne spun around at the door, “you do mean for me to – to get the…” she raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Ann nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Ann had never seen her move so fast. After they’d driven back to Shibden – Anne behind the wheel, Ann still reeling – the delicious tension between them only seemed to grow. Anne teased her as she chopped carrots, a feeble attempt at helping in the kitchen. She kept finding excuses to brush against Ann – to get a certain spice, to fill a pot under the sink, to find the garlic, to show Ann where the knives were kept. Ann had flushed at every touch, but she kept it together. Dinner, however, was another story entirely. Ann couldn’t follow the conversation. Their knees kept knocking together. Anne was flicking her middle finger across her glass. By the time they cleared the table, Ann was certain the entire family could feel her desperation.

“You two going out?” Aunt Anne asked, moving slowly to fetch a glass of water. 

“Yes,” Ann broke from her reverie, “I thought a little sunset walk would be nice.”

“Lovely day for it,” Aunt Anne was already leaving the room. “You might tell Anne to be on the lookout for that Ferrall girl while you’re out there. She came round earlier to deliver something, but she wanted to speak to Anne.”

“Oh,” Ann furrowed her brow. Ferrall? She didn’t know anyone by that name; she ran the list of Anne’s exes through her mind – no Ferrall there either. She must work for Anne, on the estate. Something like that. Innocent. 

Anne appeared, grinning widely and clutching a knapsack. She took Ann’s hand, and they stepped out into the evening sun. The wind started to kick up, and Ann huddled into Anne’s side, hooking their arms at the elbow. The estate was rather lovely at this time of day – the crisp, green lawns, the tall, proud hedges, the unassuming flowerbeds. Ann tried to focus on this, rather than Aunt’s words.

“I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to this,” Anne husked in her ear, sending a shiver down Ann’s spine. 

Ann looked up at her, trying to find something alluring to say, but a voice cut across the fields. 

“Lister! I’ve got your flowers!” 

They both turned to find a young woman approaching them, clipboard in hand. She was young, perhaps not even twenty; her dark hair was captured in a long ponytail, her eyes lit up at the sight of them. At the sight of Anne, Ann figured. She was fit, certainly, about Ann’s height, but strong and lean like Anne. Ann felt her stomach twist – was this Ferrall?

“Lister,” the young woman panted, reaching them, “I tried to come by earlier, but you weren’t in. I delivered the flowers you ordered; they’re down by the potting shed.”

“Thank you, Miss Ferrall,” Anne said, her voice low and sultry. “May I present Ann Walker? Ann this is Sophie Ferrall – she works for the garden center in town. Sophie, this is Ann Walker.”

“Hello,” Sophie nodded briefly, before returning her focus to Anne. Ann felt warm; what was this girl playing at? “I need your signature. For the delivery. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“Certainly,” Anne purred, taking the clipboard and signing with a flourish. “It’s no trouble.”

“I thought you liked trouble,” Sophie dared. Anne clicked her tongue saucily. Ann considered slapping her. Or Sophie. Or both. “Those flowers won’t last long, with how hot it’s been. Need to get them in the ground”

“It has been rather hot, hasn’t it?” Anne handed the clipboard back, refusing to let go for a moment.

“Incredibly hot. Wet, too.” 

Ann wondered how much a good defense attorney cost. 

“I see.” Anne had that voice on, that low, smooth, practiced voice. The voice that usually drove Ann crazy. Now it made her blood boil. “I guess I’d better plant them pretty soon.”

“Yeah,” Sophie stepped closer, breaching social distancing, Ann noted. “You'd better.”

“Sure,” Anne’s eyes raked over Sophie’s body; Ann was frozen. “I don’t suppose you could help me?”

“I could, darling,” Ann wrapped an arm around Anne’s waist. 

“Right,” Anne’s head whipped to look at Ann as if for the first time. “Of course.”

“Thank you so much, Sophie,” Ann’s voice dripped with insincerity. “My fiancée and I have to go. Have a good night.” 

“Good night,” Sophie said, deflated, and walked back the way she’d come. 

Ann pulled away, stomping her way across the grass. Anne had been flirting – blatantly flirting! – with that girl. She hadn’t even told her they were engaged, had barely given Ann a cursory glance. She was shameless. Ann felt her fury rise in her throat at the sound of Anne’s faint voice behind her, her feet squelching in the grass, then her sweaty presence beside her. 

“What happened?” Anne was out of breath from closing the distance between them. Ann kept walking. “Adney, what is it?”

“Not here,” Ann spit out.

They walked in silence to the chaumière. Ann’s anger grew with every step – who did Sophie Ferrall think she was? Talking to Anne like that – her Anne? And Anne loved it! Ate it up. Preened for it. Encouraged it. She needed to be reminded who she belonged to. As soon as they reached the small, stone building, Ann pounced. She pulled Anne into her, crashing their lips together, and pressing Anne into the rough exterior wall. Anne tried to put her hands on Ann’s waist, but Ann grabbed her hands. She pinned Anne’s hands to the stone and pressed her pelvis forward. She kissed Anne fiercely, savagely, for a beat, then pulled away.

“What was –” Anne was breathless.

“Don’t talk,” Ann said as she went inside. She fixed Anne with a harsh look. Anne sat down on the loveseat, folding her hands in her lap. Gone was the swaggering flirt of a few minutes ago. “What the fuck was that? Out there? With Miss Ferrall?”

“What do you mean?”

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do, Anne,” Ann said slowly. “You were flirting. With that – that – that child. Sophie Ferrall. How old is she? 12?”

“She’s 19,” Anne said to her lap.

“19,” Ann said appreciatively. “19 years old. Is that what you want? A 19-year-old?”

“No, darling, of course not,” Anne reached for her. “I want you.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Ann said simply, stepping out of Anne’s grasp. 

“I’m sorry, really, I –”

“I don’t want that.”

“What?”

“I don’t want your ‘sorry.’ I want you to learn from this.”

“Oh?” Anne’s voice was faint, but Ann could hear her breathing pick up.

“Yeah. I think you need a reminder. About who you belong to.”

“I haven’t forgotten, I –”

“You didn’t tell Sophie that we’re engaged.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No, Pony, you didn’t.” Ann was enjoying this. It was nice to see Anne on the backfoot. A plan started to form in her mind. “That’s a serious violation. You said you used to get whipped, when you were in school.”

“Yes,” Anne was breathless. 

“Do you think this warrants that kind of punishment?”

“Oh God, Ann, do you –”

“Answer the question,” Ann was drunk with power. The flushed look on Anne’s face alone made her wet; the thought of punishing Anne like this? It was almost too much. 

“I – yes, I think it does.” Anne’s eyes widened as she spoke, following Ann’s every move. 

“I think you’d better get on your knees,” Ann said, trying to keep her voice level. 

Anne scrambled to the floor on her hands and knees. Ann felt a rush of arousal at the sight. When had Anne ever presented herself in this way? Good Lord. Ann sank to her knees near Anne’s waist, perpendicular to the older woman, running one hand along her back and noting how quickly Anne was breathing.

“Is this okay?” She whispered. “You can tell me if it’s –”

“Ann, please,” she panted. “I want this.”

Ann felt her core twitch at Anne’s words, then brought her hands to Anne’s waistband. She shoved her shorts and boxers over her hips, pooling at her bent knees. 

“I think this is better, hmm?”

Anne nodded, eyes closed tight, bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

“How many, do you think? Three? Five? Ten?”

“Ten,” was the breathless reply.

“Ten it is.” Ann inhaled, studying the woman before her.

Anne’s ass was round and firm, muscular like the rest of her. She’d never seen it like this, never seen Anne on her knees in this way. She’d never really struck another person, certainly hadn’t spanked anyone. She fretted, briefly, that she wouldn’t get it right, that this whole thing would be a failed experiment, that she had overestimated her abilities. 

“Get on with it,” Anne whispered.

Ann took a deep breath, brought one hand back, and spanked her. Anne whined at the contact. 

“One,” she whispered. Ann grinned; she hadn’t even asked her to count. An added bonus. “Harder, though, okay?”

Ann’s eyes widened at the request. She squared her shoulders and brought her hand back again, coming down more forcefully this time.

“Two,” Anne breathed. “Harder.”

Again. Harder. 

“Three,” Anne moaned. 

Ann grinned. She’d gotten it. She brought her hand back again, reveling in the now-familiar sensation. 

“Four,” Anne moaned again. Her ass was starting to turn pink.

Ann dropped her head to place a soft kiss to Anne’s lower back. She smiled to herself; she wasn’t any good at this dominance thing. She spanked Anne again.

“Five,” Anne keened, her hips shooting forward.

Ann brought her back into position, then struck her again. 

“Six,” Anne’s chest was heaving now, her head hanging low between her shoulders. 

“Seven,” Anne nodded; Ann could see her throat move as she swallowed.

“Eight,” Anne’s voice was getting higher with every blow.

Ann could see Anne’s arousal dripping between her legs. She bent and ran her tongue through it, along her inner thighs. Anne muttered something into the ground, but Ann couldn’t hear it. She brought her hand down again, harder. The feeling was intoxicating. 

“Fuck,” Anne cried.

“Fuck is not a number, my love,” Ann said sweetly.

“Nine.”

“Good,” Ann kissed her lower back once more, smiling at the saltiness of her slick skin. She raised her hand a final time.

“Ten,” Anne breathed, falling forward to her elbows. 

“So good, Pony,” Ann whispered against her skin. “You did so well.”

She massaged Anne’s firm behind, remembering that she’d enjoyed it when roles were reversed. Anne was mumbling, again too quietly for Ann to hear. Ann’s hand drifted between her legs, and Anne’s hips bucked. 

“Nobody can make you feel like I do,” Ann whispered, trailing her fingertips across Anne’s folds. “Nobody.”

Anne shook her head into the rug. Her hips caught Ann’s gentle rhythm. 

“You’re mine, Anne Lister. You belong to me.”

Anne whimpered, her hips urging Ann forward. Ann complied, flicking her fingers roughly against Anne’s hard clit. 

“This is mine, Anne.” She pressed against her bundle of nerves. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

Anne moaned, her hips thrusting desperately. 

“Say it, Pony. Say you’re mine.”

“I – I – uh” Anne shook her head, unable to speak. Ann slowed her hand.

“Not good enough, darling. Say it. Say it, if you want to come.”

“I – fuck, I – ah, I’m – fuck, I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.” Anne repeated it like a mantra, her voice growing higher and higher as Ann strummed her clit faster and faster.

Fresh arousal coated Ann’s hand, and Anne shuddered with a broken cry. She trembled and seized and bucked, still mumbling into the floor. Ann pulled away slowly, then sat back on her heels. Anne collapsed into the floor, turning her head to look at Ann. She was panting, her face flushed, her cheeks wet. 

“Were you crying?” Ann was overwhelmed with guilt.

“No, no,” Anne tried to laugh. “Not like that. Sometimes when I come that hard, you know, it just happens. Nothing bad.” She reached for Ann’s hand. “Seriously, fuck. Ann. My God.”

Ann laughed, pleased with herself. She ran her fingers up and down Anne’s spine for a few minutes, while the older woman caught her breath. Anne rolled onto her back and squeezed Ann’s hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“I am sorry, Adney. For how I behaved. Old habits.”

“Thank you. I think I know a way you can make up for it.”

“What’s that?” Anne quirked an eyebrow. 

“You can reach in that nifty little bag, put on that lovely little strap, and fuck your understanding little fiancée.”

Anne laughed and shot to her feet. She ended up tangled in her shorts, still hooked around her knees, and started hopping on one foot in an attempt to get off her boots. Ann rolled her eyes and went into the tiny bedroom. The bed inside was small and took up almost all the floorspace. She noted the fresh sheets as she stripped out of her clothes. Anne had thought of everything. She was just slipping out of her bra when strong arms wrapped around her from behind. 

“You’re so fucking hot, Adney.” Anne started kissing her neck, walking them toward the foot of the bed. “Do you know that? Are you even aware of how breathtaking you are?” 

Ann’s knees hit the bed, and Anne spun her around. Their lips met sloppily, tongues sliding together; Anne’s hand cupped her face, while Ann’s ran up and down her back. Ann felt the soft press of the harness between them, and moaned softly in anticipation. Anne shifted her hips forward, just a little, and Ann sat down heavily on the bed. Anne had put on the harness, but she held the strap in her hand. She tossed it onto the bed behind them. Ann looked up at Anne, whose dark gaze sent a shiver down her spine; she scrambled backward on the bed, raising her eyebrows. 

Anne groaned playfully and dove forward, catching Ann’s lips again. Ann reveled in the warm weight of Anne’s body on hers, the firm press of her lips, the gentle stroke of her hands along her cheeks. She loosened Anne’s dark hair, letting it fall over her shoulders and tangle around her fingers. Anne pulled away to kiss her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck, then her clavicle. Ann arched into her and shifted further into the pillows. 

This was her favorite part: Anne’s long, slow, wet trek down her body. Her movements were methodical, deliberate, precise. She usually spent significant time on Ann’s collar bones, which led her to Ann’s breasts, which she always spent significant time on. She took them in her mouth, circled her nipples with her tongue, rolled the weight of them in her hand; Ann often found herself on the brink of release from these ministrations alone. Then she would move lower, nipping at the tender skin below each breast, dragging her tongue over each of her ribs. By now Ann always had her hands in Anne’s hair, and she would hold her firmly at certain spots: between her ribs, above her belly button, over her hipbone. Anne always shot her these little glances, under her eyelashes, that took Ann’s breath; she was predatory, but gentle, like a lion toying with a mouse. 

“Pony,” Ann whispered, as Anne marked a path of kisses across her belly.

By way of response, Anne pushed her legs apart and sucked softly at the skin of her inner thighs. Ann squirmed, desperate for Anne’s touch between her legs. Anne shot her one of those looks, and Ann whimpered, rolling her hips. Anne grinned and acquiesced. Ann was gone, lost to the exquisite slide of Anne’s tongue, the quiet hums she let out with each stroke, the press of her hands to Ann’s legs, spreading her wider. Ann still had one hand in Anne’s hair, and she held on for dear life. She brought her other hand to twist in the sheets, and her back arched into the worn mattress. Anne started to focus on her clit, and Ann felt her release building before she was ready. She wanted to wait, to hold off, to stay in this moment forever, but she couldn’t. Anne sent her careening over the edge, and she felt that familiar warmth spread from her belly throughout her body. 

“Fuck,” she sighed as she relaxed back into the pillow. 

Anne stayed between her legs, saying nothing. Ann propped herself on her elbows and looked down at her. She was grinning. 

“What?”

“You’re very cute when you curse like that.”

“I curse!” 

“Sure,” Anne placated, “of course, you do, baby.”

“I do!” Ann protested.

“I know,” Anne soothed, pressing a kiss to her hip. 

Ann clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes at this impossible, lovable, annoying woman. 

“Come up here.”

Anne gave her belly a parting kiss and crawled up to hover over Ann, settling on her side. Their lips met, slowly at first, then more urgently. Ann wrapped one arm around Anne’s back, the other sliding up and down her arm, which was making its way slowly down her body again. Ann jerked at the first touch to her still-sensitive clit, and Anne slipped lower. She probed Ann’s entrance gently, sliding a single finger inside; Ann bit back a moan at the intrusion. Anne started thrusting evenly, slowly, and Ann found herself matching her rhythm. Then she was being stretched by two fingers; she tightened her grip on Anne’s shoulder. Anne was so good at this, so patient and easy. Her fingers curled just right, her thumb brushed Ann’s clit perfectly, while she pressed her lips to Ann’s neck and jaw. Anne sped up slowly, then eased in a third finger. Ann whimpered, digging her nails into Anne’s skin; it was too much, too fast, too good. Soon Anne was thrusting easily and quickly, the slick sound of their skin meeting filling the room. Anne’s fingers curled and pressed and stroked; Ann thought she would die from pleasure. That familiar warmth built in her stomach. She was almost there, but Anne pulled away.

“What?” Ann gasped. 

Anne had rolled over to recover the strap and affix it in place. She knelt over Ann, spreading her legs; she quirked an eyebrow as she wrapped her fist around the base of the cock.

“Please,” Ann moaned, lifting her hips.

Anne ran the tip over Ann’s dripping folds, then slid the first inch in. Ann reached out for her, pulling her hips closer, but Anne grabbed her hands. 

“Patience,” Anne whispered, interlacing their fingers.

Anne leaned forward, planting their clasped hands above Ann’s head and easing into her slowly. Ann was delirious – from the stretch, from the press of Anne’s strong hands, from the anticipation. Her back arched as Anne filled her; she lifted her hips, jostled her legs, and hooked her heels behind Anne’s back. Then, Anne hips were flush to her own. Ann breathed deeply for a moment, adjusting to the divine sensation of being filled so perfectly. Her half-closed eyes could barely take in the erotic sight before her – the connection of their bodies, the sharp lines of Anne’s abs as she held herself up, the feral look in Anne’s eyes. 

“Adney? Are you –”

“Yes,” Ann whispered, closing her eyes.

With the first roll of Anne's hips, she was gone, lost to the sensation of being fucked so thoroughly and deeply. Anne’s thrusts started gently, but soon she was grinding into Ann with force. Her lips trailed across Ann’s breasts, her collarbones, her neck. She was merciless, and Ann found herself hurtling for the precipice before she even realized. 

“I wish you could see yourself,” Anne husked, out of breath. “You look so fucking good like this. You take me so well, don’t you?”

Ann whimpered, tightening her legs around Anne’s waist, pulling her impossibly deeper. 

“The things you do to me, Ann, fuck,” Anne’s breath was hot in her ear as she released her hand, bringing it between their bodies to stroke her clit. Ann cried out at the touch. “You feel so good. You’re doing so well.”

It was almost too much: Anne’s voice, her hands, her cock. Ann heard high-pitched, gasping cries, and she figured they were hers. The bed squeaked beneath them, banging roughly against the wall with every powerful thrust from Anne's hips. She wrapped her free hand around Anne’s shoulder, desperate for her to press harder on her clit. Anne was teasing her, giving her so much, but not enough. 

“You’re so close, my love,” Anne panted, “but I don’t think I’m ready to give you up. Are you ready?”

Ann nodded, her eyes still closed tight.

“I can’t hear you,” Anne teased, nipping at her neck. 

Fuck, did Anne always have to be so… Anne?

“You’re in charge, baby; you told me yourself.” 

Ann groaned. Anne's hand on her clit signaled paradise; she was so close she could taste it. 

“If you want to come, you better tell me.”

“I – unh, I’m re- fuck, Pony, Pony, right there, ple- yes, I’m –” she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t string those two words together. She was going to die like this, hanging on the edge of the most powerful orgasm of her life. 

“What’d you say?” Anne’s tongue was now tracing her neck. “You have to speak up. Are you ready to come or not?”

“God damnit, Pony, I’m ready!” Ann cried in desperation.

Anne’s laughter was hot against her skin, and her hand moved faster over her clit. Anne pounded into her relentlessly, her fingers now matching the rough pace of her cock. Ann couldn’t have held back her moans if she’d tried. The room was filled with the cacophony of their brutal lovemaking: squeaks and moans and squelches and thuds and grunts. Ann heard her own breathy cries as if from far away, mixing with the low moans from deep in Anne's throat. Ann shuddered, seizing and arching into the woman above her, and then everything went black.

Ann opened her eyes to the sound of whistling. She lifted her head to see Anne, fully dressed, stowing that black box in the nightstand. She was eating a banana. Ann rolled over, and Anne looked her way. 

“Hello,” she purred. “Have a nice nap?”

“You’re a beast!” Ann laughed, rolling onto her back again. 

“Quite possibly,” Anne squeezed onto the bed next to her.

Ann rolled into her chest, and Anne wrapped her arm around Ann’s bare back. She noticed, with more than a hint of satisfaction, that she was only in her sock feet. Anne was learning. 

“Fuck, Pony, that was… Jesus, you’re very good at it.”

“Well, I do try,” Anne teased, running her hand up and down Ann’s spine. “Am I forgiven?” She asked more seriously.

“Yes,” Ann said simply, tilting her chin.

Anne kissed her softly, then pulled away. Ann hummed and shook her head. Anne kissed her again, just as softly. Ann broke away and laid her head on Anne’s warm chest. Her limbs felt heavy; her eyelids already closing. Perhaps they could spend the night out here.

“Can we go home?” Anne asked, standing up. “This bed is way too small.”

Ann scoffed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong with our ‘summer house?’”

“The bed’s too small,” Anne said, as if Ann hadn’t heard her. “I haven’t got my journal or my toothbrush or my good pillow.”

Ann laughed, dressed, and they headed out into the night. It was warm, peaceful, quiet. Anne draped an arm over Ann’s shoulder as they walked back to the main house. 

“I’ll tell you what, Anne darling, you’re getting a new flower delivery person. If that Sophie Ferrall comes back, we’re going to have a problem.”

“She’s the best in town,” Anne joked, “but I look forward to bailing you out of jail.”

They laughed, and Anne squeezed her shoulder, bringing her in more closely. 

“Of course, Adney, whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am constantly overwhelmed and overjoyed by the supportive comments y'all leave for me. I love kudos as well. Hell, I'm appreciative for every hit. Y'all are the greatest.  
> Shoutout to VerseTop for reminding me that Old Lady Lister needs a little something to keep her joints in shape. I couldn't resist adding that in.


	13. Friday Morning

Anne Lister had seen a lot of things. She had traveled to distant lands, studied extensively, and exposed herself to a wide range of cultures, lifestyles, and traditions. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the shocking sight she found this Friday morning.

Her sister, Marian, in bed with her fiancée, Ann Walker. 

Not like that. 

Worse.

In their pajamas. Snuggled up. Laughing. Eating chocolates. 

Anne thought she was going to be sick. 

“Darling!” Ann lit up when she swept into the room. “How was your walk?”

“Fine,” Anne said cautiously, approaching the bed. Marian grinned up at her. “What are you two doing?”

“Little Ann needed some help, and you were gone, so she asked me. We’re all set now, hmmm?”

Ann nodded gratefully. Anne’s eyes flicked between her fiancée and her sister, unable to figure out what was going on. 

“I’m off,” Marian patted Ann on the arm and stood. “Breakfast in 30.”

Marian nudged Anne’s shoulder on her way out of the room. Anne narrowed her eyes, watching her go. She turned back to Ann.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m – well,” Ann sighed, “I started my… you know,” she raised her eyebrows, “this morning.”

“Your what?” Anne looked around the room. Did Ann start some kind of new project?

“You know,” Ann made that same, raised-eyebrow face again, tilting her head to her lap. “I started.”

Anne studied her, followed her gaze to her lap, then looked back at her face. She noted the bag of chocolates, the heating pad, the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. The wheels in her mind turned slowly.

“Oh!” She cried. “You got your period?”

“Yes,” Ann hissed, looking to the door, as if they might be overheard. “I did.”

“Why didn’t you say that?”

“It’s…embarrassing. I don’t know.”

“It’s natural,” Anne stooped to unlace her boots. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.” She crawled into bed next to Ann. “How do you feel?”

“Rotten,” Ann pouted. 

“I’m sorry. What can I do?” Anne took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

“Nothing, Marian helped me.”

“Helped you with what?” Anne prickled. Why had Ann gone to Marian instead of her?

“I couldn’t find the – I didn’t have any…you know…tampons. I had been meaning to get more, but the stores closed, and I forgot. And then you didn’t seem to have any. Marian gave me some, and she brought me all this.” 

“Oh,” Anne nodded, taking in the provisions Marian had brought. She supposed she should be grateful to her sister for helping Ann when she couldn’t, but it irked her nonetheless. 

“Why don’t you? Have any… thing? Like none.”

“Uh,” Anne shook her head, trying to focus on the conversation rather than her annoyance with Marian. “I use a cup. I have an IUD, so I get, like, three periods a year.” 

“Really?” Ann’s eyes were wide. 

“Yeah. That’s why I got it.” Anne shrugged. “I hated having my period, always have. Made me feel…I don’t know, weak, maybe. Too feminine. Not that being feminine is weak. I’m not sure what it was. I just didn’t feel…right. So I talked to my doctor, and this was years ago, but it seemed to be the best choice. You have to have it changed out every so often, but it lasts for rather a long time. It’s a little invasive, the procedure, but it’s worth it. For me.”

Ann hummed, and they sat in silence for a few moments. Anne had never discussed this with anyone other than her doctor. She had trouble explaining her discomfort, why she loved being a woman but hated this physical reminder of it. Menstruation by no means disgusted her; in fact, she and Mariana had had some of their best sex when Mariana was on her period. She found no reason to be embarrassed by it, philosophically, but that didn’t stop her stomach churning at the sight of blood on her boxers. It just unsettled her, personally, in her own body. 

“The extra benefit, of course,” she joked, “is I won’t get pregnant. Which is very important. With all the unprotected sex I have.”

“Is that right?” Ann giggled. 

“Yes!” Anne said emphatically. “An unwed mother at my age? It would never do.” 

“Scandalous,” Ann teased, leaning her head on Anne’s shoulder. They both chuckled.

“Do you want to eat breakfast? I could bring you a plate.”

“No,” Ann pouted, “I ate all this chocolate, and now my stomach feels worse. I think I’ll just stay up here.”

“Okay,” Anne patted her hand. “I’ll go down then, tell them you’re not feeling well.”

Ann nodded and sunk lower into the bed, nestling her head in the pillows. Anne stood, drew the covers up around her, pressed a kiss to her temple, and left the room. She made her way quickly down the stairs, into the dining room, and greeted her family. 

“Aunt,” she said, dipping her head to press her lips to soft, baby-powder-scented grey hair. “Captain,” she squeezed his shoulder. “Marian,” she patted the top of her head. 

“Little Ann not coming down?” Aunt Anne asked.

“No,” Anne said, flicking out her napkin. “She’s rather under the weather.”

“Shame,” Aunt Anne buttered her toast.

“I saw all the flowers you’ve ordered,” Marian said. “Doesn’t it seem a bit extravagant?”

“You’ve got to support local businesses. It’s that time of year anyway.”

“But our income is – I mean it’s going to be a lot less, without the rents, isn’t it?” 

“Now, that was your idea, Marian,” Anne heard the irritation in her own voice. “I wanted to continue to collect the rents.”

“We could afford not to if you weren’t off buying out the garden section just to get a pass at that Ferrall girl!” Marian’s voice was so grating; Anne stuck her tongue in her cheek as she chose her words. 

“The estate, as well as the budget, are my concern, sister dear. I will manage it.”

“We’ll all be out in the street!”

“Marian,” Aunt Anne warned. 

“Right, well, she’s going to lose Shibden, and we’ll all be homeless.” 

“Isn’t it exhausting, Marian, to be right all the time? Such a heavy weight, for such narrow, hunched shoulders.”

Marian straightened her back and pouted. Anne settled into her chair with a smug smile. She wasn’t worried about money, not with Ann in her bed. She already had more socked away than her family realized, and Ann was certainly a good safety net. Marian fretted about every little thing; she had no head for numbers anyway. Best not to mention the slew of new books she’d ordered. 

Breakfast broke up, and Anne jogged up the stairs back to Ann. She was asleep, curled on her side in the middle of the bed. Anne closed the door gently and went to her office. She worked on her writing for a few hours, but she struggled to focus. She wondered about Ann – how she felt, what she was doing, if she was awake. Finally, she gave up and padded down the hallway. Ann was still in bed, on her side, but she was watching something on her phone. Anne slipped into bed behind her, curling her body around Ann’s, wrapping her arms around her waist. 

“Hi,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Ann’s neck, “what are you doing?”

“Watching TikToks.”

“What’s a TikTok?”

“It’s like Vine, kind of.”

“What’s Vine?” 

Ann laughed and locked her phone. Anne was confused. There had been a lot of dancing on the screen, but she couldn’t figure out why they were doing it. Or why that was funny.

“TikTok is, like, short, funny videos.”

“Okay,” Anne said warily. None of the videos she’d seen were especially funny. “Those people were dancing.”

“Yes,” Ann rolled over to face Anne. “Some of them are dances. Some are just funny. Some are lipsyncs. Some are animals.”

Anne nodded, still not seeing the appeal. Was this better than a book? Than a movie? Than a brisk walk in the sun? 

“Here, let’s watch some.”

Ann turned her back to Anne again, snuggling into her arms, and opened her phone. The first video was a couple in a mirror, then the screen went blank, then the couple had switched clothes. Anne understood the joke, even if it didn’t make her laugh. The next several videos were of children dancing. The dances were elaborate and identical. Anne had to admit they were impressive. Then there was a slew of dogs doing various, interesting things, followed by more dancing, some pranks, a few set to dialogue from television shows. Ann looked over her shoulder every now and then, checking Anne’s interest. Anne feigned at first, but then she actually started to enjoy it. Ann’s thumb swiped them through video after video, dance after dance, song after song. It was, she had to admit, pretty entertaining. 

Ann’s battery flashed “20%,” and she passed it over her shoulder for Anne to plug in. 

“Fun, right?”

“Yeah,” Anne was startled to find over an hour had passed. “Actually, yeah, they really are.”

“‘Actually,’ right,” Ann laughs. “You’re surprised!”

“Well, I mean, yeah, kind of. I don’t look at a lot of social media, so…” Anne shrugged. 

“We should do one.” Ann rolled over to face Anne, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

“What?” 

“We should make a TikTok. We could do a Flip the Switch. Or a dance – let’s do a dance!”

“Ann, darling, I –”

“Come on, Pony, we could do it! We can learn a dance!”

“No,” Anne laughed, “I definitely cannot learn a dance.”

Ann bit her lip and studied her for a moment. Anne sighed, resigned herself to the fact that she absolutely would be spending the rest of her morning learning a dance. 

“We can do the Parent Trap!” Ann cried.

“What?”

“You know, the movie.”

“Sure.” It was one of the few ‘90s movies she and Marian could agree on.

“Perfect! We’re going to learn the handshake!”

“What?”

Ann was already scrambling out of bed. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, put on some pants, and then we –” she turned back and took Anne’s chin in her hand, “we are going to make a TikTok.”

Anne laughed and watched her go, shaking her head at the turn her life had taken. Making a video for an app made for teenagers. She could only pray none of her students would see it. Ann reemerged in athletic shorts and a loose t-shirt tucked into the front waistband, her hair piled high on her head. Desire stirred in Anne’s gut, but she tamped it down. 

“Ready?” 

“No,” Anne teased. 

“Too bad,” Ann nudged her over and picked up her phone. 

Ann found a clip of the handshake slowed down, and they watched it together. It seemed fairly simple. Anne wasn’t much of a dancer, but she could pull this off. Ann gave her a questioning look, hopping to her feet at Anne’s nod. She pulled Anne upright, and they attempted to follow the steps on the screen. 

As it turned out, it was not simple.

At all. 

So many moves. Hands, feet, hips. Anne kept missing it, getting behind, forgetting the next step. She stepped on Ann’s foot, and the younger woman grabbed her forearms, laughing wildly.

“Anne! Be serious!”

“I’m trying!” Anne protested.

“You’re not,” Ann was still laughing, pulling Anne closer. She was grinning so widely Anne’s chest ached. 

“I promise I am,” Anne wrapped her hands around Ann’s waist, pressing their pelvises together. 

Ann smiled that excited smile, the one where her tongue poked out between her teeth, and Anne had no choice. She couldn’t help covering Ann’s lips with her own, or slipping her tongue out to slide along Ann’s, or nipping at her bottom lip as she pulled away. No choice at all. Certainly no other option but to repeat the process twice more. 

“Pony,” Ann murmured, “don’t try to distract me.”

“Me?” Anne gasped. “Never.” She grinned as she ghosted her lips over Ann’s, but she pulled away. 

“We’re doing this. Focus!” Ann clapped her hands together. 

Anne did try to focus. But it was hard. The steps, yes. But also resisting Ann. Her infectious laughter. Her bright smile. Her shimmying hips. Every touch of her hand was exhilarating. Every bump against her hip was thrilling. Every squeeze of her fingers in Anne’s was electric. It was agony. 

“You’re getting it!” Ann cried, when they made it through the whole thing once with only six missteps from Anne. 

Anne laughed, out of breath, and bent over, hands on knees. Ann rubbed her back soothingly. 

“I thought you were in shape, Pony.”

Anne shook her head with a chuckle. Exercise was one thing. Dancing was something else entirely. Dancing and resisting Ann Walker at the same time? Borderline impossible. She straightened and exhaled into the ceiling. Ann took her hand, and they tried again. Worse. Again. Better. Anne started to get the hang of it. She even started to enjoy it. After they made it through flawlessly for the third time, she was confident. 

“I got it. This one for real,” she said with a nod. 

“For real?” 

“For real.” 

Ann propped up her phone and started to record. She backed up. They shook, stacked hands, swung their hands between each other, slapped their hips, snapped, bumped, bent, grinned, straightened, stepped apart, turned. On the final handshake, Ann was grinning so widely Anne couldn't help but to pull her closer, dip her back, and kiss her soundly. Ann laughed into her lips, and Anne pulled her upright. Ann scurried over to stop the recording. 

“How’d we do?” Anne watched over Ann’s shoulder. 

It was good. It silly and childish and sloppy in places, but it was cute. They were cute. Anne’s chest constricted at the sight of them together; she’d never seen herself like this – happy, carefree, joyful. She ran her hands up Ann’s arms and squeezed her shoulders. 

“I love it,” Ann turned her head and tilted her chin. Anne caught her lips briefly. “I love you.”

“Never doubt that I love you, Miss Walker.” Anne pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. “I have just spent my entire morning making a TikTok with you. The next time you’re upset with me, I want you to watch that video.”

Ann sauntered to her, standing between her spread legs and draping her arms around Anne’s neck. Anne wrapped her hands around Ann’s hips, a million filthy scenarios flooding her brain. Would Ann even be up for –

“Shall I post it?” Ann asked softly, breaking Anne from her daydreams. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Anne’s eyes widened. She’d forgotten the whole point was to put this on that website. App. Whatever. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Ann quirked an eyebrow. 

“I have a reputation.” Anne tightened her grip on Ann’s hips. 

“Fine.” Ann sighed. Then her eyes lit up. “I’ll just go show Marian.”

“No, you won’t!” Anne growled and pulled Ann to her, flipping her onto the bed and pivoting over her. Ann’s bright laughter filled the room, and Anne shook her head. “Ann Walker. What did I do to deserve you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Since this is following their day-to-day, and it's been about 2 and a half weeks, it seems only right that someone would get her period. I had thought about including it, but then sort of forgotten, until LadyLoverz's comment last week. Thank you for that! I think it's more realistic, and that's not to say there won't be ANY period sex. But it is a bit of a challenge, for myself at least, to keep them apart a bit, because I do think Ann Walker would be hesitant about that, insecurity rearing its ugly head as usual.   
> I thought for a while about Anne, and I stand behind the business with the IUD and the cup. That seems, to me, the most in-character choice for a modern Anne Lister. From what I've read, she did not usually share with her lovers when her "cousin" came, sometimes noting, with a hint of gratitude, that her companions didn't notice that it had come and gone. She hated being "womanized," and I read speculation somewhere that Anne didn't talk about her period because she didn't like the reminder of her femininity. Anne was such a medical buff, too; she seems like the type to research and find what would make her the most comfortable in her body. I did a similar thing for similar reasons, but I don't know. What do you think? This feels right and true to me, but I'm interested to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> Anne's money concerns based on: "I must be very cautious how I seem to spend money & must make a great appearance of carefulness. Not a word about all these additional books." October 14, 1822
> 
> Also, I lost a LOT of time scrolling through TikTok for inspiration. Describing that Parent Trap dance was TOUGH.  
> Anyway! Thank you, as always, for your thoughtful and generous feedback!


	14. Friday Afternoon

Ann knocked on the open door to Anne’s office. Her strong, handsome fiancée was hunched over her laptop, squinting at the screen. They’d parted in the late morning after a quick, tantalizing make-out session; Anne had trailed her hand under Ann’s shirt, but Ann wasn’t ready for anything further. She still felt bloated, crampy, unattractive. Anne was understanding, though flushed, and had gone to her office while Ann trotted down to lunch with the family. Ann was finding her place among these Listers, and she felt more at ease with them than she ever had before. Jeremy had teased her about her salad, calling it rabbit food, and she didn’t even feel embarrassed. 

“Hello,” Anne drawled, looking up to find her in the doorway. “And how are you?”

“Better now,” Ann smiled and perched on the edge of Anne’s desk; Anne’s hand ran up her calf to rest just above her knee.

“How do you feel?” Anne narrowed her eyes. 

“Okay,” she sighed. “A little crampy, still, but I’ll survive. Tomorrow I’ll feel worse, and then I’ll be okay. Second day is always worse for me.”

Anne nodded, squeezing Ann’s thigh. Ann looked at her laptop – shrubs. Rows and rows of them. Prices beneath. She looked back at Anne. 

“I’m ordering a few things for the garden. What do you think?”

“They’re all so different,” Ann teased. 

Anne clicked her tongue. She scrolled up a bit, hovering her cursor over one.

“I actually thought these might be nice for Crow Nest, what do you think?”

“Sure,” Ann nodded. “Are we already at the shrubbery anniversary? I didn’t realize.”

“I’ve got a joke about bushes, but I can’t quite get my tongue around it.” 

Anne’s voice was low, her eyes fiery. Ann swallowed dryly. For a moment, she considered climbing into Anne’s lap, to hell with it, and letting Anne take her right there. It would be easy enough, with the way Anne had been looking at her all day. But she still felt less than herself, achey, definitely not sexy. 

“You can’t say things like that,” Ann breathed. “And look at me like that. Not when I’m – you know.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Anne’s hand slid further up her thigh.

“I don’t…I don’t think I can.”

“Okay,” Anne’s hand retreated to her knee. “If you change your mind…” Anne winked.

“I might,” Ann bit her lip, “but I just don’t feel – I don’t know, I don’t feel – like myself, you know?”

“Sure. I get it.”

Ann bent to kiss Anne chastely, then she stood up. 

“I’m going to watch the Kardashians with Marian.”

“Oh my God,” Anne groaned. “Why am I marrying you?”

Ann laughed with a shrug before leaving. She trotted down the stairs to find Marian on the couch, popcorn steaming. They rolled through a few episodes, laughing and arguing jovially through each one. Elizabeth would never watch this kind of trash TV with her. Not for the first time, Ann was glad she had come to Shibden. Their sisterly bubble was burst, however, by the doorbell. 

Marian sighed and stood up, but Anne was already skidding down the hall to the front door. Marian and Ann shared a look, and Ann went to investigate, leaving Marian on the couch. At the front door, she found Anne, signing for a rather large box. On the doorstep was a tall, muscular, short-haired woman. She easily had two, maybe three, inches on Anne. Her arms were covered in intricate and colorful tattoos, veins protruding as she held up the box; her hair was buzzed on the sides and long on the top, gelled into a pompadour; she wore a collared shirt and tie, knotted loosely around her neck, but her jeans were ripped and baggy. A chain clipped to her belt loop hung over her thigh and disappeared behind her back. Ann stopped short at the sight of her. 

“Who’s this?” The delivery person asked, lifting her chin to nod at Ann. 

“Ann Walker, I’d like you to meet the one and only Tib Norcliffe, who has finally brought me an order of books. She runs a shop in London, but she brings deliveries to me.”

“Ann Walker.” Tib’s gaze was lecherous. Ann felt her face growing warm. “What a pleasure it is to meet you.”

“I’m going to take this,” Anne grunted with effort as she lifted the box from Tib’s arms, “before Marian sees. Don’t tell her.”

Ann leaned into the door frame, still taking in the woman before her. Being near Tib felt dangerous; her eyes dared Ann, threatened to coax her off a cliff. Ann only now noticed she had a flask in the breast pocket of her shirt, a cigarette tucked behind her ear. She smelled of whiskey, which Ann found intoxicating for the first time in her life. 

“I thought you lived at Crow Nest,” Tib hovered over her, propping one strong arm over the door above her. 

“I did,” Ann squeaked. “I just moved in. Here. With Anne.” 

“Right,” Tib purred. “Lucky her.”

Ann let out a breath – halfway between a laugh and a sigh. This tall, tempting, wicked woman unsettled her; she felt a twinge of that teenage feeling she had when she saw Anne for the first time. When she discovered women could look like that. Talk like that. Act like that. Make her feel like that. 

“I do hope you’re staying healthy,” Tib’s eyes raked down her body. “You certainly look well.”

“Thank you,” Ann managed. 

“I’m sure Lister has told you any number of things about me, but you shouldn’t believe any of them.”

“Why not?” Ann knew she should nod, thank Tib for the delivery, and send her on her way, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop starting at her sharp jaw, her short hair, her strong neck. She was thick and beefy in a way that Anne wasn’t. Anne was strong, but lean – measured, careful, bookish. Anne felt like steamy eye contact from across a library. Tib felt like a rough fuck in a bathroom stall. Anne was a quirked eyebrow as she buys you a drink; Tib was a bar fight waiting to happen. She couldn’t stop imagining the way those tattooed arms would wrap around her, how Tib’s strong, wide body would feel pressed into hers. 

“I taught her everything she knows. Do you know that?” Tib leaned in, as if sharing an intimate secret. 

“Really?”

“Sure. How to flirt with a woman. How to touch her.” Tib put a hand on Ann’s hip, leaning closer. “How to kiss her. How to fuc-”

“Tib!” Anne’s sharp voice came from behind them. 

Ann shot backward, heart still racing from the proximity to this shockingly bold woman. Tib bit her lip and stepped back, hands raised in surrender. Anne came to Ann’s side, brushed a hand over her back, then advanced toward Tib. 

“I think you’d better go.” Anne’s voice was low, and her eyes flashed with anger. 

“Come on,” Tib chuckled, “I was just having a chat with your girl here.”

“She’s not a girl. She’s my wife.” Anne stepped forward. “And you’re drunk. Four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“I am not.” Tib stumbled backward. “I’m not.”

“Your assistant’s with you?” Tib grunted in affirmation. “Good. Go home. Don’t drive yourself.” 

Tib opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She turned and walked down the gravel path a few meters, then spun unsteadily to face them again. 

“You think you’re so much goddamned better than everybody else. You’re not,” she shouted. “You ought to leave her, little girl. You deserve more,” she sucked her teeth and ran her eyes over Ann’s body one last time. “Look me up when you’re ready for,” Tib licked her lips, “more.”

With that, Tib stumbled to her waiting car. Ann felt a sense of loss seeing her go. She had seemed so put-together and smooth, but she wasn’t. She was a bumbling, lecherous, bitter drunk, just like Anne had said. Ann felt ashamed for having been taken in by her, even for a few moments. She turned to say as much, but Anne was already grabbing her wrist, dragging her upstairs and into their bedroom.

“Anne, wait, I –”

“No, listen,” Anne was breathless, her eyes wild. “I’ve seen that look. I know what Tib’s like. Sit down.” 

She nodded to the bed, and Ann sank into it. Anne closed the distance between them in a step, cradling Ann’s face in her hands and kissing her soundly. Her lips were fierce, desperate; Ann wrapped her hands in the back of Anne’s shirt, pulling her closer. Anne’s mouth worked determinedly against hers, as if she could print a message on her lips by sheer force of will. Ann melted into her, her head swimming. Anne’s hands slid down her neck to her shoulders, pushing her lightly back. Ann laid back, biting her lip; Anne looked worried, angry, needy. She put one knee on either side of Ann’s hips, hovering over her. 

“Tib is… something else.” She husked, hands running along Ann’s sides. “I know the effect she can have. I saw it in your face. But she’s not better than I am.”

Ann opened her mouth to protest, but Anne squeezed her hips with her knees. 

“Don’t say anything. Let me prove it to you.”

Anne bent and caught Ann’s lips in a slow, searching kiss. She rested on her forearms above Ann, whose hands slid under Anne’s shirt and along her back. She relished the feeling of Anne’s warm skin under her fingertips. Anne’s lips were honey – smooth, sweet, a familiar and safe reminder of home. She pulled away.

“Point One: I’m a better kisser than she is.”

Ann laughed breathlessly. Was Anne really going to do this?”

“Point Two: I’m sober.” 

Anne shifted back on her heels and started kissing her neck. Ann flopped her hands above her head, giving in to her fiancée’s need to prove herself. 

“Point Three: I can dance. As you saw this morning. I’m a natural. It only takes me a few hundred tries.”

Ann laughed, shaking her head. 

“Point Four:” Anne’s hands slid under her t-shirt, caressing her belly, “I make you laugh. Point Five: I am a very good cook.” She nipped at Ann’s jaw. “I once watched Tib catch a pot of water on fire.”

Ann laughed again, desire coiling in her stomach. She wasn’t ready, not yet; she still felt…icky. But Good Lord it felt good to have Anne’s hands on her. 

“Point Six: I have excellent taste in flowers,” Anne’s hands slid up to the edge of her bra, tracing softly over her skin, “and I’ve chosen some lovely ones for our home and for Crow Nest.”

Ann arched her back, willing Anne’s hands to move upward. Anne’s tongue dragged along her neck, and her hands slid under her bra, gently covering her sensitive breasts. Ann gasped a moan at the sensation.

“Point Seven: I can get you to make that sound,” Anne purred into her neck. “Point Eight: I’m very stable.” She grazed her teeth along Ann’s pulse point. “Predictable.” She nipped at her neck. “Reliable.” 

She caught Ann’s lips in another deep kiss, her hands still tenderly massaging Ann’s breasts. Ann squirmed under Anne’s expert touch, losing herself to the slow fire she was stoking. How could Ann have even looked at Tib, at anyone other than this perfect woman above her? There was no one else for her. There never could be. 

“Point Nine:” Anne broke away, her deep, blazing eyes dancing with mischief, “nobody makes you feel the way I do.” She trailed one hand down to Ann’s waistband; Ann tensed. “Point Ten: as badly as I want you right now, I respect your boundaries.” 

Anne kissed her once more, then pulled away entirely, sitting back on her heels. Ann toyed with the hem of Anne’s dark shirt, smiling shyly; Anne grabbed her hand and pressed her lips to Ann’s knuckle, just above that onyx ring. 

“The next time some big, muscular, drunk butch knocks on our door, I’d like you to remember Points One through Ten. Or shall I continue?”

“I understand, Pony.” Ann laughed.

Anne rolled onto her back, still holding Ann’s hand. Ann turned to her side, studying Anne’s sharp profile. Tib couldn’t hold a candle to her. Of course not. Ann had just been distracted, for a moment. Anne owned her. Body and soul. She always had. Ann couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have her heart held, protected, cherished by this incredible woman. 

“Don’t tell Marian about those books, hmmm?”

“What?” Ann furrowed her brow.

“Marian is convinced I’m sending us into financial ruin, with the improvements I have planned, but it’s fine. Really,” Anne turned her head sharply and looked at her, “it’s fine. But I don’t want her to worry, so I don’t want her to know about the books I ordered.” 

“Do you need money, Pony? I’d be happy to –”

“No. Not right now.” Anne turned away, looking at the ceiling. “Maybe someday, but not right now.”

“I just ordered you a bunch of books, Pony,” Ann squeezed her hand. “Why do you need more?”

“This is an old order.” Anne rolled her eyes. “The only thing Tib does quickly is drink. She’s only just now gotten around to it.”

“When you ordered this,” Ann said slowly, “did you…I mean, were you still sleeping with her?”

“What? Definitely not.” Anne laughed incredulously. 

“I’m just wondering.” Ann shrugged. “I can’t…picture you two together.”

“You dirty girl,” Anne rolled onto her side, her voice low and teasing. “Fantasizing such naughty things.”

“You seem too similar.”

“Because we’re both,” Anne paused and quirked an eyebrow, “tall?”

Ann laughed and shook her head, swinging their hands in the air between them. 

“Did you ever see The L Word?” Ann shook her head. “Oh, you should. It’s excellent. Ridiculous, and soapy, but – has its merits. Anyway, they’re trying to imagine these two characters together, and they kind of wrestle around and mess about and never get anywhere, because they are both…shall we say… tall. D’you see what I mean?”

Ann flushed and nodded. Now she could picture it. Good Lord. 

“Which is another reason I love you, my darling,” Anne swung a leg over Ann’s lap. “You fit so nicely under me.”

Ann giggled and pulled Anne down for a kiss. She made a mental note to remind herself, in future, how perfectly they fit together. Two halves of the same whole. They fit together seamlessly, effortlessly. Every empty spot in Ann’s life was filled by some part of Anne that others felt stuck out too far. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, arching her back to press into Anne’s chest. They were made to complement each other like this. Ann just had to remember that she filled up Anne’s life in the same way; she mustn't forget that the parts of her that stuck out too far filled the holes in Anne's life. She could feel it every time Anne looked at her, held her, kissed her. Anne pulled away, studied her, kissed her once more, then pulled away again. 

“Now, Adney,” Anne breathed against her lips, “I have to go start dinner. Care to join me? Or will you stay up here thinking dirty things about me and Tib?”

Ann laughed and took the proffered hand. She heaved herself up, sighing into the exquisite press of Anne’s arm around her waist, grinning at the way her head rested so perfectly on Anne’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Shrubbery talk based on this entry: "she seems well enough inclined to consult me & tell me all - I am to choose shrubs for her & she for me" September 3, 1832. This is one of the reasons I love Anne Lister - she's such a NERD! "I'm gonna flirt with this girl by choosing plants - that's hot." Joke's on me, I guess, because it worked.
> 
> I didn't intend to include Tib, because I really find her a rather tragic figure in the diaries, always drinking and pining for Anne and never getting the best parts of her. I just described the hottest butch I could think of, and I didn't want to introduce an original character. What do we think?
> 
> I am so so appreciative of every hit, kudos, and comment. Y'all are truly the greatest, and writing this story keeps me going in these uncertain times. I hope you're all staying safe and healthy.


	15. Friday Night

After dinner Anne had wandered out to the potting shed to inspect the flowers left by Miss Ferrall. She had intended just to assess them and make a plan for the next day. Before she knew it, however, she was splitting them into groups, carrying armfuls to their destination, rolling out the hose and watering them lightly. It was dark before she starting winding the hose back up, only to see a small blonde figure stumbling out of the house, wine glass in hand.

“Anne Lister!” She called loudly, “where have you been?”

“I’m right here,” Anne laughed, finishing up with the hose and moving to her beautiful, silly, clearly wasted fiancée.

“What were you doing?” Ann slurred, swaying on her feet.

“Looking at the garden,” Anne gestured to the fields behind her. She had to grab Ann’s hips to steady her. She laughed, “you’re tipsy.”

Ann nodded seriously and allowed herself to be led back to the house. Anne wrapped an arm around her waist and took the glass from her hand. 

“I had three.” Ann’s lips were pressed to her ear, but she was nearly shouting. “Glasses. Of wine.”

“I can see that,” Anne laughed as she propped her against the kitchen counter and went about filling a large glass of water. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk before.”

“I usually don’t,” Ann paused, seemed to forget what they were talking about, then continue as if nothing had happened, “drink. Very much. Catherine and I get drunk sometimes. But it’s been a while.”

“Drink this,” Anne passed her the water. “I suppose this was Marian’s doing.”

“Don’t blame Marian,” Ann sputtered; “she loves you.”

“Drink,” Anne lifted the glass to her lips. “Sometime we’ll have to get proper drunk, Miss Walker. Play some ‘Never Have I Ever.’”

“What’s that?” Ann’s eyes were wide as she handed the empty glass back to Anne, who refilled and returned it. 

“It’s a game where you say things you’ve never done, and if somebody else has done that thing, they have to drink.”

“What?” Ann squinted her eyes so hard they were almost closed. 

“So I could say ‘Never have I ever watched Keeping Up With The Kardashians,’ and you’d have to drink.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Ann pouted, passing back the empty glass again. “You’ve done so many more things than I have.”

“That’s good,” Anne handed the glass over, “then I’d have to drink a lot more than you.”

“But I like to drink,” Ann said into her water glass before she tilted it back.

Anne couldn’t help laughing at her small, ridiculous, adorable woman. She went to the pantry to find some of Marian’s defiled, discarded crisps. Ann squealed at the sight of them, then tottered upstairs, clutching the bag in her arms. Anne followed the sound of the television, intent on giving her sister a bit of a talking-to.

“Marian, really, you must be more careful, Ann can’t –”

“She’s asleep,” Jeremy called from his recliner.

Entering the room, Anne could see that. Marian was curled in a ball, drooling into the couch cushions. Jeremy was watching a pre-recorded football game, and Aunt Anne was knitting. Anne looked at the clock.

“How are you two still awake?”

“We’re not dead yet,” Jeremy harrumphed.

“Marian and Ann were so fun to watch,” Aunt Anne smiled. “They were laughing and drinking and whispering – who knows what about. It’s good to see Marian like that, having fun. Little Ann too. I had gotten so used to seeing her at funerals that I’d forgotten how lovely her smile is.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Anne perched at her Aunt’s feet, leaning back against her chair. 

“She really is.” Aunt scratched the back of Anne’s head; she nuzzled into the touch. “You’ve done very well.”

“Thank you,” Anne said softly.

“It’s good to see you happy too.” Aunt returned to her knitting. “I’m so accustomed to your scowl, I’d forgotten what a sweet little girl you are.”

“I’m over forty years old, Aunt. I’m hardly a girl.”

“You’re my girl, Antsy, and that’s that.”

Anne bit her lip, blushing at her childhood nickname and knowing there was no use arguing.

“You talk a lot about improving Shibden, but from what I can tell, the best improvement you’ve made or could hope to make is bringing Little Ann here. She brightens up this old place, and she softens you. The whole estate is better for it. It’s lovely to see.”

Anne swallowed, trying to push down the lump in her throat. She knew her aunt was right, had even felt the difference herself, but to hear it like that was different. More powerful. Anne felt a wave of immense gratitude. She pressed a kiss to her aunt’s knee and scrambled to her feet. 

“Good night,” she patted Aunt’s shoulder, then Jeremy’s on her way out of the room.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she rushed to their bedroom. She felt a deep, stirring need to be with Ann, to hold her, to thank her. She swept into the room, expecting to find Ann munching on her crisps. Instead, she was met with darkness and soft snores. She rolled her eyes and closed the door gently, bending to flick on the bedside lamp. For the second time today, she started backward at the sight she found in her bed.

Ann was sprawled on her back, fully dressed, the bag of crisps wrapped in one arm, Argus in the other. That filthy, lazy bum of a dog had his shaggy head on Anne’s pillow. Anne exhaled forcefully, squashing her desire to yank Argus to the floor immediately. She didn’t want to upset Ann, and she knew the poor thing had been feeling poorly all day. A sneak attack was better, she figured; she could ease Argus out of the room and let Ann sleep. She put on her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and washed her face, breathing deeply to keep from shouting at the mangy beast. When she crept back into the room, Ann had rolled onto her side and was now spooning that trespassing animal.

“Argus,” Anne whispered fiercely, tugging on his collar, “down.”

The brute wouldn’t move.

“Argus!” She said a bit louder. “Down!”

Ann’s slender arms tightened around the dog. Argus looked at Anne, and she believed she could detect a hint of smugness in his puppy-dog eyes. She lifted Ann’s arm, then tugged at Argus’s collar again.

“Argus, get down!” 

“No,” Ann whined. “This my Pony.”

With every tug to Argus’s collar, Anne was met with equal and opposite force from Ann, who held the dog closer and closer to her chest, mumbling into his fur. 

“This my Pony, and you can’t take her from me,” she slurred, half-asleep. “She’s very hairy, but I still love her.”

“Ann, darling,” Anne stroked a hand over her cheek, “wake up.”

Ann’s eyes opened slowly, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. 

“Hi, Pony, I was just having a dream about you.”

“I know,” Anne adopted the voice of a very understanding kindergarten teacher, “but Argus has to get off the bed.”

“Why?” Ann matched her, now playing the sulking kindergartner. 

“Because he is a dog.”

“Dogs can sleep in the bed.”

“Not in my bed.”

“This is my bed.”

“It’s half mine,” Anne sighed, “and his head is on my pillow.”

Ann opened her mouth to protest, looked at Argus’s head, then closed it. She nodded, then nudged Argus, who immediately jumped down and trotted out of the room. Anne scoffed and closed the door. 

“Dogs are meant to sleep in bed,” Ann said knowingly, sitting up and opening her crisps.

“Argus has a bed. It’s downstairs.”

“That’s not the same.”

“We’re going to have wash these sheets tomorrow. Especially as you’re getting crumbs everywhere.”

“Are you mad at me, Pony?”

“No!” Anne shook her head. “No, darling, no. I actually came up here thinking about how grateful I am for you. Aunt and I were talking about how lovely it is to have you here, and –” she sighed. “I love you very much, Adney.”

“I know that,” Ann nudged her playfully. “Will you read me something?”

“Sure, what do you to hear?”

“I don’t care.” Ann rested her head on Anne’s shoulder. “I just want to fall asleep to your voice.”

Anne kissed her temple and slipped out from under her. She looked through the piles of books on her vanity – none of these. She tilted her head to read the spines in a stack on the floor by her dresser – no, not these either. She turned her attention to leaning tower of paperbacks in the corner – yes, here. 

“How about this? A mystery. We can read a little each night and see if we can guess the ending. I have loads.”

Ann nodded brightly, her mouth full. 

“I have Holmes, Marple, Poirot, a few more obscure detectives. Any preferences?”

“Bring Poirot. Your French accent is sexy.”

“Is it?” Anne purred, plucking Death on the Nile from the pile and sauntering back to bed. 

“Yes, Pony, God,” Ann laughed. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but there’s something about it.” She shook her head.

“Ready?” Anne slid under the covers.

Ann nodded, then widened her eyes and jumped up. She looked down at the sheets, then sagged in relief. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Ann rushed into the next room. 

Anne took this opportunity to brush the majority of the crumbs from Ann’s side of the bed. She sank down further into the warm cocoon of their sheets. Ann returned shortly, having changed into faded sweats and a t-shirt.

“Now?” Ann nodded as she pulled the covers over her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep in pants.”

“Because it’s my…you know,” Ann did that shy tilt of the head, blushing. 

Anne grinned and kissed the top of her head. What a strange creature, she mused, who did some of the filthiest, most wanton things with her body – asked for them specifically in many cases – but who was embarrassed by this natural process. 

“Are you going to read to me?” Ann snuggled into the pillows, throwing one arm over Anne’s middle.

“Yes, right, of course.” Anne started reading, noting Ann’s eyes drifting closed as she turned the first page. She marked the spot, and closed the book. 

As she reached for her journal, Ann’s arm tightened around her waist. Not asleep then. Anne read more five pages, paused, and Ann didn’t move. Anne put the book on her nightstand, considered getting her journal, but decided against it. She settled lower in the bed, slipping an arm under Ann and pulling her more closely to her chest. It occurred to her this was the first time she and Ann had slept in the same bed without having sex first. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d shared a bed with a woman she hadn’t just had sex with. The thought made her smile. She studied the fragile, captivating, drooling woman in her arms. Perhaps she wasn’t too old to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Based on "home at 4 1/2 - found Miss W - literally tipsy - laughed & told her so. She said she had taken three glass [of] sherry at luncheon." September 24, 1834.
> 
> Have I told you lately how much I appreciate your comments? Because I do. I can't tell you how excited I get when a comment notification pops up. Plus, y'all are helping me think of new things and see my own story in different ways. That's amazing. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there.


	16. Saturday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it does get a little steamy at the end, so if that's not your bag...just a warning

Ann had woken in the night to wave after wave of nausea; her stomach churned, the room spun, and the thick cocoon of sheets suffocated her. She crawled to the bathroom, hung her head over the toilet for what felt like hours, but nothing came up. She sank back onto the cool tile, curling into a ball on the floor and drifting to sleep. At some point, strong arms wrapped around her, and Ann found herself back in the soft warmth of their bed. A small plastic bucket was nestled between her arms. 

“Adney, darling,” Anne’s low voice penetrated Ann’s dreams, until, finally, she eased her eyes open. Too bright. She closed them again. “It’s me, love; I brought you some toast. I wondered if you felt like eating.”

Ann nodded, but she still couldn’t open her eyes. Her head was pounding, and her stomach ached with cramps. She didn’t know the last time she’d been this hungover, but now she remembered why she usually only had one glass. Anne’s strong hands eased her into a sitting position, and Ann opened one eye. Anne, in her black shorts, ball cap, and t-shirt, looked so concerned for her it broke her heart; she held a plate with two pieces of dry toast, and she tore one in half and offered it to Ann. Ann opened both eyes and ate it slowly. Next Anne held out her daily pills and a few tablets of ibuprofen; Ann took them, gulping down the cold water from the glass Anne offered. Ann ate the rest of her toast; the only sound in the room was her chewing. Anne rubbed her knee and lower thigh soothingly until she finished.

“How do you feel?”

“Awful,” Ann whined. 

“I think you might’ve had more than three glasses,” Anne was smiling, teasing. “Marian is about on death’s door.”

“That wine is poison.”

“Good thing you drank it all. Saved the rest of us.”

Ann laughed, but it made her head throb. Suddenly she remembered her period and pushed past Anne to the bathroom. When she emerged, Anne was holding up a floppy sun hat. Ann tilted her head and stuck out her bottom lip. Surely Anne wouldn’t begrudge her a day in bed? She was so very tired.

“Come outside with me, darling. I’m going to plant those flowers. You can stretch out on one of the loungers in the sun. The fresh air will do you good.”

“Anne,” she whined. “I just want to stay in bed.”

“Nope,” Anne clicked her tongue. “Fresh air and sun will help. Plus some water and a little more food in your stomach. Moping inside all day is not going to make you feel any better.”

“I feel so awful, Pony, please.”

“Come on, my love,” Anne started rifling through her drawers, pulling out some loose athletic shorts and a t-shirt. “Trust me. I’m a doctor.”

“Of Classics!” Ann protested, even as she stripped out of her pajamas.

Anne watched her undress, and her barely-restrained gaze set Ann aflame. God, she could use an orgasm right about now. She mused on how good Anne’s hands would feel against her, how much she was craving that release right now. It was too bad, she thought as she dressed, that Anne would be repulsed by her condition and surely wouldn’t want to go anywhere near what was between her legs. She plopped the floppy hat on her head and looked up dolefully at Anne. 

The couple went downstairs and out into the garden. Ann felt rather like a child as Anne gave her a pre-packed lunch box, sprayed her with sunscreen, and settled her into the lounge chair near the flowerbeds. Anne whistled under her breath as she worked methodically, and soon Ann felt the effects of the ibuprofen, relaxing out of her pout and enjoying the late morning sun. She opened the lunch box and found a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a container of fruit, a handful of wrapped chocolates; Anne really was an immense softy, wasn’t she? 

“This is very sweet, Pony.”

“What?” Anne wiped her brow as she turned back to face her; she was getting rather sweaty.

“Making my lunch like this. Bringing me outside.”

“Entirely selfish on my part, I’m afraid. It’s nice to have you here with me.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re eating and recovering, which is actually rather a lot of work. I’m happy to see it. I like having you close by anyway.”

“It’s a lovely day. You were right. I’m glad I’m not stuck inside.”

“You should listen to me more, Miss Walker.” Anne winked. “Although it is getting rather hot out here.”

Then Anne stood and twisted out of her shirt, leaving her in that black baseball hat, a dark grey sports bra, her black running shorts, and her rough, brown gardening gloves. Ann’s heart stopped. Anne was practically glistening with sweat, her lithe body bending back to the earth. Ann couldn’t stop watching the way her muscles moved below her skin – so effortless, graceful, primal. It certainly was hot out here. 

“Better pick up your jaw, Adney,” Anne teased when she looked up; “I think it’s there on the ground.”

Ann clamped her mouth shut and sank lower in her chair to enjoy the view. Anne bent and dug and straightened and planted, and Ann found she couldn’t breathe. It was like watching some highly specific erotic dance, crafted exclusively for Ann Walker. Anne was strong, half-naked, sweaty, with dirt streaked across her arms, knees, stomach; she looked up occasionally to wink, smile, or shake her head at Ann. She knew perfectly well the effect she was having, and that made it even hotter. Anne planted the last flower and stood, tilting her head to examine Ann. 

“You look rather flushed. Anything the matter?”

“You know perfectly well,” Ann said tersely, desire stirring hopelessly in her gut. “Out there parading your healthy body, while I’m stuck here like an invalid.” 

“An invalid?” Anne laughed. “You’re a bit hungover, but surely you feel better by now?”

“I do,” Ann shot back, “and now I’m,” she lowered her voice, “I’m all hot, and I can’t do anything about it.”

Anne fixed her with the most curious look – lips parted, brows knit together, blinking rapidly. She pulled on her shirt, looked away, scoffed, then turned back to Ann. 

“Why can’t you do anything about it?”

“Because of my –” Ann broke off, frustrated, “you know. Sitting here, watching you, I’m all – I need it, Pony, and I can’t have it.” She felt near tears. 

“Adney,” Anne sank to her knees next to Ann’s chair, “you can… have it. No matter what day of the month it is.”

“I can’t,” Ann whined. “All I can think about is you, and of course you wouldn’t want –”

“Hold on,” Anne broke in gently, “don’t assume what I want. I told you yesterday it doesn’t bother me.”

“But, Anne! I can’t – I need you. Do you understand? God, I need you so badly I can’t even think. But I can’t ask you to – not while, I’m –”

“Stop,” Anne said firmly. “I want you to listen to me very closely, Ann Walker, and repeat after me. I am beautiful.” She paused and looked at Ann expectantly. Ann opened her mouth to protest, but swallowed her argument at Anne’s stern look.

“I am beautiful,” she said, dropping her head to pick at her nails.

“And I am desirable.”

“And I am desirable.”

“Every day of the year.”

“Every day of the year.”

“And my fiancée is always right, so I’m going to listen to her more, even when I don’t feel well.” Anne’s voice was now jovial, teasing. Ann’s head shot up, and she nudged Anne playfully. “Okay, you can skip that part. Did you hear yourself?”

Ann nodded, still embarrassed.

“Look, if you don’t feel up to doing anything, that’s fine,” Anne said gently, “but if you’re feeling that kind of way…” Anne ran her hand up Ann’s calf to her knee. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Ann nodded again.

“Will you tell me what you want, Adney? I’ll do anything you want.”

“Would you –” Ann’s cheeks grew warm even at the thought of it, “I don’t think I can have some big, long – you know, I – I just need – God, Anne, I need you. I need you to touch me.”

“Okay,” Anne squeezed her calf. “I think an orgasm or two will do you good. Doctor’s orders, hmm?”

Ann laughed through her blush, taking Anne’s hand as she stood. They snuck upstairs like teenagers; there was no real reason to hide what they were doing, but Ann still didn’t want to run into any of the family. She closed the door to their bedroom, and Anne was on her. She caught her lips in a deep, slow kiss; her hands cradled Ann’s face with infinite tenderness. Ann squirmed; she was already so desperate and so unsure. How would this even work?

“I’m giving you two options, Miss Walker,” Anne whispered against her neck. “Bed or shower.” 

“Shower,” Ann breathed, hoping the warm water would serve as a buffer or a distraction of some kind. She felt torn between her embarrassment and her desire; with Anne’s lips trailing down her neck, desire won out. 

“Come on,” Anne broke away and tugged at her hand. 

The water was perfectly hot when Ann stepped in, and Anne watched her breathe deeply under the spray for a few moments. Ann’s muscles relaxed, the tension in her shoulders and back giving way to the pulsing need between her legs. She reached out for Anne, whose predatory grin almost consumed her face. Anne backed her against the tile, pressing her roughly into the slick wall, hands already sliding down her stomach. Ann wrapped one arm around her neck for balance, digging the fingers of her other hand into Anne’s firm bicep. 

“Ready for it, Adney?” Anne husked in her ear. 

Ann nodded, arching her back as Anne dragged her lips across Ann’s neck and jaw. Anne wasted no time, her fingertips pressing firmly against Ann’s aching clit. Ann was so sensitive, had been needing Anne for so long, it was only a few moments before she was shuddering and gasping in Anne’s arms. Anne kissed behind her ear, down her jaw, along her neck. Ann was still gasping when Anne’s lips closed around her nipple. 

“Fuck” Ann breathed, pulling Anne closer. 

She could feel Anne grin around her breast, and her knees buckled. Anne straightened, her eyes dancing as her hands wrapped around Ann’s legs and lifted her up. Ann giggled, draping her arms around Anne’s neck and tangling her fingers in her hair. The warm spray pelted Anne’s side, ricocheting into Ann’s face; Ann couldn’t remember why she’d ever resisted this. Anne kissed her, all clashing lips and tongue and teeth, while her hands kneaded Ann’s thighs, her firm stomach pressing between Ann’s legs. Anne broke away, adjusting Ann in her arms to slip her hand between them; she was gentle this time, stroking Ann’s clit slowly. She teased her to the edge, keeping her just shy of her release, all the while her lips pressed fiercely against her chin, her mouth, her jaw. Ann forgot all her earlier discomfort – how could she question that Anne would want her?

“Can you –” Ann panted, tilting her hips upward. 

“What?” Anne seemed just as worked up as she was. 

“Inside – can you – inside me?”

Anne growled, sunk her teeth into Ann’s neck and two fingers into Ann’s core. Ann whimpered; she was sensitive, but Anne was gentle. She moved slowly between Ann’s folds, curling her fingers and slipping her thumb across Ann’s clit. It was ecstasy. She had felt so alienated from her own body for the past 24 hours, achy and bloated and unattractive, but now she was revitalized, exuberant, alive. And, fuck, she was coming again. She slumped forward, trembling in Anne’s arms, mumbling incoherently into her shoulder. 

“That’s it, beautiful girl,” Anne’s soft voice soothed her as her hand slowed. “You feel so good. You did so well.”

Ann sighed as the last aftershock shook through her. Anne slid her hand from between their bodies, lowering Ann gently to the floor. She backed up into the far shower wall, biting her lip cheekily as she stretched her arm out under the warm spray. Ann watched red streaks flow from her fingertips, swirling around the drain until the water ran clear; she found it surprisingly erotic, this visual reminder, the ease of Anne’s movements, the rakish lift of her eyebrow. Anne’s hand drifted between her own legs, and, before Ann could react, she was circling her own clit, spreading her legs and bracing her back against the wall. Ann was frozen, watching her chest redden, her lips part, her hand move more and more quickly. She expected Anne to close her eyes, but she was staring at Ann, even as her movements grew more erratic. Anne’s hips shot forward, and she let out a strangled sort of half-cry as she came. 

Ann stepped closer, her eyes trained on Anne’s long fingers retreating from between her legs. Anne, still panting, held her hand up, a question in the quirk of her brow. Ann took her fingers between her lips, moaning softly at the taste; she ran her tongue along them, sucked lightly, then slid them out with a pop. Anne wrapped Ann in her arms and brought their lips together languidly; it was sensual more than anything, grounding them to the present moment, an affirmation of the step they had taken. Anne pulled away, studied her, smiled, then pecked her lips once more. 

“Take a proper shower, my love. Make you feel brighter.” She stepped out, grabbed a towel, and disappeared into the next room. 

Ann relaxed under the water, sighing and scrubbing and shampooing. She did feel remarkably better. Her hangover was long gone. Her cramps were severely diminished. Her blood raced with that familiar, postcoital warmth. She chuckled ruefully to herself – of course Anne would be right about this, as she was about so many things. She didn’t dare tell her; she wasn’t sure she could survive the gloating. Ann wasn’t sure which would make Anne more insufferable – the apparent healing properties of her touch or the simple joy of being proven right. Either way, she thought as she felt a day’s worth of tension swirl down the drain, Ann was grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I am so appreciative for your support and your feedback, especially y'all who are out here every chapter giving my dumb ass some guidance and encouragement. I'm technically working from home right now, but my workload is much less than usual, so I feel sort of adrift in the midst of all of this. I am so grateful to be able to provide some distraction and, hopefully, entertainment in these very scary times. I feel pretty silly over here writing this little story when so many are out there doing very brave and important things. But we all have our part to play. I guess my part is writing smut. Good Lord. Stay safe out there, everybody.


	17. Saturday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's dirty, and then there are Real Feelings, and then it's dirty again

Anne’s phone lit up:

“Showmeyer. I don’t know how to spell it. The hut. Do come quickly. I am growing dull and want you in a thousand ways.”

Anne grinned down at the screen, shaking her head. Ann was rather hopeless, wasn’t she? It hadn’t been more than three hours since she’d left the younger woman in the shower, and here she was needing her again. Anne leaned back in her chair, typing her response. 

“Supposing I’m busy, Miss Walker. What if I can’t leave my work? xx Anne”

“You can leave your work for me. Do you sign your text messages?”

“Yes. It’s polite. xx Anne” Anne furrowed her brow. Was she doing something wrong?

“You’re so old 😘👵🏻"

“I am not! I have manners.” Anne resisted the urge to type her name at the end of the message. She stared at the tiny, grey-haired lady next to the kissing face. Was that meant to be her? It looked more like Aunt Anne.

“Don’t be cross, Pony.”

“I’m not cross.”

“You are. Let me make it up to you. Come out here and see me.”

“What if I do?” Anne sunk lower in her chair, wondering if Ann would send her something saucy. 

“You tasted so good in the shower, but I didn’t get enough.”

Anne flushed, arousal flooding between her legs. Another text came through:

“Of you. To be clear.”

Anne laughed breathlessly as she typed her own reply:

“What do you have in mind?”

She watched those bubbles bounce over and over, and she started to wonder what filth Ann could possibly be writing to her that took this long.

“Just come out here. I can’t write it out – too embarrassing. Just come on.”

Anne was out of her seat like a shot, racing down the stairs and sliding into the living room, finding Marian asleep on the couch.

“Marian!” She said brusquely. “Are you awake? Good. I won’t be back for dinner. I have – a few things to do around the estate. Ann is helping me. We’ll be gone until evening. Alright?”

“You’re going off to shag her, aren’t you?” Marian narrowed her tired eyes.

“None of your business,” Anne winked, knowing Marian would draw her own conclusions. “The point is you’ll be on your own for dinner, which is more than fair, since I made breakfast this morning, hmm?”

Marian scowled up at her, then dropped her head back into the couch with grunt of agreement. Anne patted her on the head on her way out the door. Poor Marian, she thought as she crossed the grassy field; she never could bounce back from a hangover. Thoughts of Marian, however, faded as Anne got closer to the chaumière. How delicious, she thought, to have partner who wanted her just as badly as she wanted them. 

Before she could even close the door, Ann was on her, crashing their lips together and tugging her shirt from the confines of her jeans. She caught Anne’s surprised squeak in her mouth, kissing her fiercely as she backed her into the bedroom. Ann’s frantic hands yanked at the buttons of her shirt, and Anne had to hold Ann’s face in her hands to steady her. The shirt was shoved roughly over her shoulders, and Anne toed off her boots, gasping for breath as Ann broke away to fumble at her waistband. 

“We’re not in a rush,” Anne panted, trailing her fingers through Ann’s hair; her blonde curls brushing against Anne’s chest and stomach as she bent to flick open the button. 

“I am,” Ann breathed, shoving Anne’s jeans and boxers to the floor.

Anne sputtered a laugh as Ann pushed her roughly onto the bed, crawling over her and capturing her lips again. Anne relaxed into it, allowing Ann this moment of control; she wasn’t usually this physical, this demanding, but Anne found she was enjoying it. The unfamiliar sensation of Ann’s clothed body against her own, mostly nude, one. She was still wearing her sports bra and socks, and Ann hadn’t pushed it, for which she was grateful. The desire pooling in Anne’s gut was too urgent; the press of Ann’s lips too forceful. Anne found it arousing to cede control, just this once. 

“Spread your legs,” Ann whispered in her ear, shifting downward to drag her tongue along the column of Anne’s neck.

Anne complied, spreading her legs and stretching her neck, offering herself up for the taking. As usual, Ann skipped over her chest, starting her ministrations at Anne’s ribcage. Anne was grateful, once again, that Ann never pushed this, and she let herself moan softly at the wet slide of Ann’s tongue over her stomach. Ann nipped at her hipbone, kissed her way across Anne’s belly, then nipped the other. Anne lifted her hips and swallowed dryly. Ann wrapped her hands around Anne’s thighs and dipped her head. 

The first touch was electric. Ann was remarkably good at this. Anne wondered, not for the first time, how she knew exactly what to do, what Anne liked and needed and craved. Her musings, however, were cut short when Ann’s tongue ran across her clit, down her folds, and back up. Ann’s mouth was relentless, nipping and licking and sucking at Anne’s center until Anne was writhing and moaning with abandon. Ann took her clit between her lips, and Anne’s hands shot down to tangle in her hair. She held Ann in place, her hips pressing urgently into her face, needing more. 

“I’m close,” Anne panted; the high-pitch of her voice sounded distant. “Right there,” her fingers tightened in Ann’s hair. “Ann!” she repeated over and over again, as her release washed over her. 

Ann coaxed wave after wave from her, until, finally, Anne released her head, her entire body collapsing back into the sheets. Ann crawled back up her body, pressing soft kisses to her belly, her sternum, her parted lips. She settled on the bed next to Anne, one soft hand tracing circles over her abdomen.

“Fuck,” Anne breathed, staring at the ceiling.

“I didn’t know how to put that in a text,” Ann teased.

Anne laughed and stretched her neck to peck Ann’s lips with her own. She licked her lips as she pulled away, finding the faint taste of her own arousal. She rolled onto her side and trailed one hand down to Ann’s waistband. Ann’s hand caught her. 

“Not right now,” Ann whispered with a shake of the head.

“Oh, okay,” Anne nodded, disappointed.

She sat up to retrieve her clothes, but Ann grabbed her arm. 

“I’m not done with you, Dr. Lister.” That teasing, sultry voice was back. 

“I thought you…” Anne trailed off.

“Just because I’m,” Ann titled her head, “not up for it, that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“No,” Anne said slowly, “but that’s not really – I mean, I don’t like that.”

“What?”

“If we can’t both – then I don’t want to.”

“You’re telling me,” Ann’s voice was measured, with an edge to it, “that if I went down on you right now, you wouldn’t like it?”

“Ann,” she sighed, “it’s not that simple.”

Anne suddenly felt this was perhaps too serious a discussion to have without any pants on. She slid to the edge of the bed and found her boxers, slipping them over her hips. She pulled her shirt over her shoulders and started buttoning. 

“What are you doing?” Ann’s confusion bordered on anger. 

“I just – maybe it’s time we have a talk about these things, and I’d like to be dressed for it.” Anne said gently, stepping into her jeans. 

“I don’t understand,” Ann shook her head. “We’ve done this loads of times. Why is this different?”

“Are you going to let me touch you?” Frustration swirled in Anne’s gut, mixing with fear and exasperation.

“I don’t think I’m up for it. Right now.” Ann picked at her nails. 

“Ann, darling, listen.” Anne crawled to her, leaning against the headboard and wrapping Ann in her arms. She could feel the tension in Ann’s body. “For me, part of the…pleasure is bringing you pleasure, so if you’re not ready, I would rather wait with you.”

“But what if I want to – you know?” 

"Would you? Want to? If I'm not..." Anne trailed off. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a partner who thought primarily of Anne's pleasure over her own. Perhaps never.

Anne could see the blush creeping up Ann’s neck. She considered her words carefully. How could a woman like Ann understand what it meant to be a top, to be butch, to be Anne Lister? Anne had spent many hours scribbling in her journal, working out her thoughts and feelings and inclinations, but could she articulate them to Ann? At the end of the day, all the labels were just words, combinations of letters and syllables and context to construct an identity that the outside world could understand. It shouldn’t matter, she rationalized, once she was in bed with her girl. But it did. It affected the way she moved, the way she felt, everything. Maybe they weren’t just words after all.

“Do you know,” she started softly, fixing her eyes on a spot on the wall across the room, “that you’re one of two people in my whole, sordid history that I’ve allowed to – uh, to do what we just did?” She paused, waiting for Ann to respond. Nothing. “It’s true. Mariana, of course, but no one else. Not because I don’t like it, Good Lord.” She chuckled. Still nothing. “Most of the women I’ve been with – uh, they were not interested in reciprocating, do you see what I mean?”

Ann nodded, still saying nothing. Anne was glad she had closed the distance between them and could at least feel Ann’s warm body in her arms. Apprehension twisted within her – perhaps she shouldn’t have started down this road at all. 

“So I kind of built up this role where I never did that, because – uh, because I could justify it to myself. They were always explaining away the things we did; you know, they were straight, but I could,” she let out a bitter laugh, “I could do things to them, right? That didn’t count. And then, separately, I’d do my own thing. You know.” Anne’s cheeks were on fire, but she had to continue. “I told myself, if it wasn’t mutual, then it didn’t mean as much. Then it would hurt less when they left.” 

Anne swallowed dryly. She had never spoken any of this aloud. She’d worked through these feelings in her journal, alone, but she’d never told anyone. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t.

“Anne.” Ann’s voice was a whisper, a breath, a question. Anne looked down to find her looking back up at her, those blue eyes watery and pitying. “That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t like that with Mariana. She was – it doesn’t matter. But that’s why she had such a strong hold over me. It was the best sex I’d ever had. Until you.” 

Anne hadn’t given it a lot of thought, but she knew it was true. Her physical connection with Ann in just the past few weeks was miles ahead of that with Mariana. 

“Is it?” Ann traced a finger over Anne’s stomach. 

“Oh yeah,” Anne laughed, hips already squirming at the contact. 

“You’ve never really told me, um,” Ann paused, staring at her hand on Anne, “what you like. What you don’t like.”

“You’ve bloody well figured it out on your own,” Anne laughed again.

“Seriously, Pony. It’ll help me. To understand.”

“Well,” Anne considered. This was something she had definitely spent a lot of time thinking about, and very little articulating. “Shall I be clinical? Is that better or worse?”

“I don’t know,” Ann was breathless.

“I don’t like to have my chest touched,” Anne started, opting for a distant, even tone. “It makes me feel womanized. Vulnerable. Not in a good way.” She bit her lip. “I don’t like penetration. At all. It’s – I don’t like it.”

“Okay,” Ann nodded into her chest.

“You know, Maria Barlow tried to – once. And I said, no, no thank you, you know? And she said, ‘oh that’s just because you’re a virgin.’ Can you believe that?” Anne chuckled. “Me? A virgin? I was thirty-five years old. I’d been having sex for over twenty years.”

Ann let out a sort of half-chuckle through her nose but said nothing.

“Those are the things that are nonnegotiable for me. I can’t be convinced or cajoled or seduced into liking them. There are other things – like that night you were so cross about Miss Ferrall,” Anne’s heart raced at the memory, “that I’m more flexible about. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Ann said simply, pressing her lips into the patch of skin exposed by Anne’s collar. 

Anne’s body sagged, all the tension rolling out of her. This was better than even the most sensual, expert, or erotic act – the sublime sensation of being understood and accepted. Warmth suffused her body, and she released the breath she’d been holding for what felt like hours. 

“What are yours? Nonnegotiables?” Anne asked. 

“Um,” Ann bit her lip, “I don’t know. I guess, like, choking. I can’t breathe when I have a panic attack, so, uh…”

“Okay,” Anne said gently. “What else?”

“I don’t know,” Ann laughed helplessly. “Threesomes? Uh, like, stuff with ice cubes? I don’t like being cold.” Ann laughed again, shaking her head. “I don’t know about these things. Everything we’ve done has been – I’ve loved all of it. I don’t know.”

“Okay. You’ll tell me if there’s anything you feel even a little bit uncomfortable with?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Anne pulled Ann closer into her chest, resting her head on top of those blonde curls. 

“Will you let me fuck you now?”

“Adney,” she laughed and tightened her arm around her fiancée, “you’re the one always saying we should be equal partners.”

“We’re not equal if you’re the only who’s allowed to – to be in charge.”

Anne laughed again, partly at Ann’s serious, determined face and partly at the blush spreading across her pale chest. Ann, pouting, swung her leg over Anne’s lap and straddled her. She put her hands on Anne’s shoulders and fixed her with a serious look. Anne raised her eyebrows – a question and a dare.

“I think this is about pride.” Ann nodded as she spoke. “You act like you’re strong, tough Dr. Anne Lister, mistress of Shibden Hall, but you were just screaming my name a few minutes ago. Little Ann Walker can tame Big Anne Lister, and it’s not even that hard.” 

“That’s what you think?” Anne scoffed.

“Yeah,” Ann started to grin deviously. “I think you like to focus on me, because otherwise we’d be done in, like, ten minutes.”

“What?” Anne’s jaw dropped. Her stamina was a point of pride. And yet, when Ann said it like that, she started to wonder. She was usually so busy that she didn’t have time to think about her own release, at least not until her partner finished. She knew she was already wet again, and Ann hadn’t even kissed her. 

“You’re so proud of being a top, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“They won’t revoke your top card if you let me touch you.”

“My what?” Anne laughed. 

“What’s the fastest you’ve ever come?” Ann’s voice was low now, sultry. Anne stopped laughing, searching Ann’s face. She was serious. 

“Seven minutes,” she breathed.

“Seven minutes,” Ann nodded. “I can beat that.”

“Really?” Anne’s voice was rough, even to her own ears. 

“Do you want me to try?”

Anne nodded frantically, unable to speak. 

“Give me your watch,” Ann husked.

Anne fumbled with the band, presented it to Ann. She had an Apple Watch, because she loved the data it provided – steps, heart rate, temperature. The band was made of thick, silver links, and the sight of this masculine accessory in Ann’s small hand made Anne incredibly hot. Ann rolled her hips into Anne’s lap once, her eyes still trained on the watch. 

“It’s 4:41 right,” Ann paused, “now.”

Her hand dove into Anne’s jeans, squeezing past her boxers and between her legs. She shifted in Anne’s lap, shoving one knee between her legs, forcing them further apart. Anne gasped at the rough contact to her clit; she couldn’t believe how aroused she was already. Ann’s lips crashed into hers, her tongue sliding determinedly into her mouth. Anne couldn’t focus – the firm, dirty press of Ann’s lips to hers paired with the relentless, furious pace of her fingers – everything mingled together, preparing to unravel her. Anne broke away, dropping her head back against the headboard, whimpering softly, hips rolling up and into Ann’s hand. Ann’s lips pressed to her chest, her neck, her ear.

“That’s it, Pony, you’re so close. You feel so good. I love fucking you. I love you so much I can't even think straight,” Ann purred, teeth nipping at her earlobe. 

Anne exploded. She shuddered and gasped under Ann’s expert touch. As the first wave rolled through her, Ann’s lips found her ear again.

“It’s 4:46, my love.”

Anne’s eyes shot open. Her orgasm wracked through her as Ann’s eyes danced with mischief and pride in front of her. She couldn’t believe it – Ann Walker. Of all people. She didn’t care about her stamina or her top card or her pride. It didn’t matter. Ann knew her body too well; from the start she had always intuited Anne’s preferences, her needs, her boundaries. 

“How?” Anne gasped as her body stilled. 

“What?” Ann was still wearing that smug smile. 

“How do you do it? Jesus Christ, Ann.” 

“I guess I’m a natural,” Ann winked.

“Seriously, though, it’s like you know exactly what I need and what I like and what I want. Even when we first met, it’s like you could read my mind. It’s incredible.”

“It’s because we’re made for each other,” Ann laughed. “I thought you were a romantic.”

Anne laughed, too, shaking her head. Maybe this is what everybody meant – all those singers and poets and maniacs with their partner’s name tattooed on their neck. There was the racing heart at the slightest touch, and then there was the mind-blowing sex, and, best of all, there was the warm comfort of being known and understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Gosh I spent a lot of time worried about getting Anne's boundaries and feelings and justifications just right. I won't give a long explanation, but I did try. How'd I do?
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments and feedback. A special thank you to VerseTop, whose comment a few chapters ago helped me form this chapter. 
> 
> "Do come quickly for I am growing dull and want you in a thousand ways" is not only the BEST Ann Walker line I know, but also the smoothest booty call in history. 
> 
> The Maria Barlow stuff is from a diary entry, but I don't have the exact wording or the date. I remember hearing it on Shibden After Dark's episode on Anne's exes. If you're not listening to those ladies, I would highly recommend. 
> 
> The seven minutes part based on That Time Anne And Mariana Fucked In Seven Minutes Despite Mariana's Toothache: "I took off my pelisse & drawers, got into bed & had a very good kiss, she showing all due inclination & in less than seven minutes the door was unbolted & we were all right again" December 12, 1816


	18. Saturday Night

Argus’s fur was wiry and greasy, but Ann could not keep her hands out of it. She and Anne had stumbled back to the main house after dark, laughing and clutching each other like teenagers. Ann was so pleased with herself for being so assertive and with Anne for allowing herself to be vulnerable. They’d eaten leftovers in the kitchen, trading bites of food and soft kisses. Finally, they’d made their way to the living room and found Marian and Aunt Anne engrossed in a black-and-white movie Ann had never heard of. Anne was immediately transfixed, so Ann dropped to the floor to cuddle with Argus.

Mistake Number 1.

Or, really, Mistake Number 1 had been rolling around on top of Anne for the better part of three hours, trying to prove a point by arching her back this way and that. She had been so carried away in the moment that she hadn’t thought about it. The sound of Anne’s hoarse cries mixed with the feeling of her slick arousal on Ann’s hand – it was too much. She could hardly give a moment’s consideration to her weak spine when Anne was begging her for more, right there, please. 

Mistake Number 2 had, in truth, been hoisting herself onto the counter and letting Anne press her back into the cabinets at an odd angle on more than one occasion. It had been so hot in the moment. Anne had fed her cold grapes, salty pretzels, frozen chocolate. Her hands had trailed fire up Ann’s legs, kneading and squeezing her bare skin, fingertips dipping below the hem of her shorts. They stoked that low fire of anticipation between them – nothing could happen, not there in the kitchen, with the entire family yards away. Somehow, that made the tension even sweeter. Just enjoying the feeling of Anne’s skin on hers, the unhurried press of her lips, the patient slide of her tongue. Ann wasn’t about to dampen that fire with concerns about her neck, craned to the side and covered by Anne’s lips. She didn’t give a single thought to the consequences of curving her back while Anne sucked at her clavicle, and she certainly didn’t protest when Anne roughly pulled her forward, crashing their lips together and pressing Ann into the sharp knobs of the cabinet doors. 

So this was actually Mistake Number 3, the final straw – lying on the hard floor for nearly an hour, head propped on Argus’s firm belly. She rather enjoyed watching Anne getting along with her family, their shared enjoyment of the movie. She never got the opportunity to have an adult relationship with her parents, and, in a way, she envied Anne’s camaraderie with her father and aunt. Of course, she also didn’t want to interrupt the moment of sisterly peace the film provided, so she didn’t say anything when she felt the first twinge in her neck. There was a round of immense laughter around the time she felt the second twinge, this time in her lower back, so she kept that to herself as well. By the time she felt the third twinge, now in her shoulder blades, all three Listers were wiping tears at some heroic action performed on screen. She couldn’t bear to ruin it. 

Now, as the family stirred and prepared to go upstairs, Ann found she could not stand. She’d thrown her back out. Shit. She ran her hands through Argus’s fur, trying to summon the strength to heave herself up. It wasn’t happening. 

“Darling, leave that mangy beast alone. It’s time for bed,” Anne said over her shoulder, helping Aunt Anne to the stairs.

“Don’t sell yourself short, sister. I wouldn’t say you’re mangy at all,” Marian teased, winking at Ann as she left the room.

Ann laid there, frozen. She would certainly need help to get up. God, but how embarrassing. She couldn’t bear for any of the family to know. She honestly wished she didn’t have to tell Anne. She’d spent all afternoon trying to show she was strong and sexy like Anne was, and now she couldn’t even stand. Ann thought her fiancée would be right back, but now she heard her voice mixing with Aunt’s and Marian’s, growing fainter and fainter as they climbed the stairs. She hadn’t even noticed Ann was still down here. Tears started to well in her eyes. 

She had convinced herself she was different at Shibden – the new house, the new family, the new life. Anne made her feel powerful and confident, and Ann had let herself believe that she actually was. That she was healthy and vigorous and strong. In less than a week, she was back on the floor, unable to move, trapped by her own weak body. Her tears flowed freely now, and she ran her hand through Argus’s fur to ground herself. How long before Anne noticed she hadn’t come upstairs? 

About half an hour, as it turned out. She heard Anne’s low voice from upstairs, then the soft thud of her feet trotting down the stairs.

“Ann? Are you down here?”

“Yes,” Ann managed, trying and failing to keep her voice even. 

“Ann?” 

Anne’s striped socks came into view, and Ann smiled through her tears at her having left her boots off for once. Anne crouched down next to her, a confused expression on her face. 

“What’s happened?”

“I can’t –” Ann closed her eyes and shook her head, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I can’t get up.”

“It’s your back?” Anne still had those furrowed brows, but her eyes were soft and sympathetic. 

Ann nodded. Anne gave her a small smile and swiped her thumb across Ann’s wet cheek. 

“Okay,” Anne whispered, “can you put your arms around my neck?”

Ann reached up, draping her arms weakly around Anne’s neck. Anne slid her arms under Ann’s back and knees, pulling her close. Anne straightened slowly, and Ann rested her head against Anne’s chest. Neither woman spoke as they climbed the stairs and made their way to their bedroom. Anne laid her gently on the bedspread, and pulled away. Ann wished she knew what the other woman was thinking – was she annoyed with her? Tired of having to take care of her? Frustrated with her frailty?

“I’m just going to turn off the lights downstairs, hmm? I’ll be right back.”

Anne swept out of the room, and Ann let herself cry harder. Perhaps she could get the worst of it out now, and, by the time Anne returned, she would be more composed. No such luck, and by the time Anne’s heavy tread echoed down the hallway, Ann was hysterical. The muscles in her back cried out – sore, locked, pulsing. She couldn’t stand the pain; she was frozen. Tears poured from her eyes, her chest heaving with sobs. Her ragged breathing was painful, but she couldn’t even it out. She couldn’t block out the voices telling her how worthless she was, how weak, how pathetic. She heard the door close, then felt the bed sink under Anne’s weight near her knees.

“What is it?” Anne spoke quickly; Ann thought she could detect annoyance in her low tones. “What’s happened? Who’s upset you? It was Marian, wasn’t it? Or Aunt? Father? Me?”

“No,” Ann gasped, rolling painfully onto her side. Her back throbbed. She couldn’t get her breath, couldn’t gather her thoughts, couldn’t face Anne. The voices abated, only slightly. Perhaps they were tired of shouting. Perhaps they were afraid of Anne. 

She heard Anne’s sharp intake of breath, then a pause, then a slow exhale. Anne scooted closer, one hand resting on Ann’s hip.

“You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?” 

Ann nodded, pressing her face into the pillow. Then she realized she was getting Anne’s pillow all wet, which only made her cry harder. The voices were silent now. Anne’s presence grounded her in reality. Her breathing still came in choked gasps, but she was getting a grip on it. Anne’s hand squeezed her hip.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll be right back.”

She heard Anne’s footsteps retreating. She tried to steady her breathing and get control of her emotions; she could recognize now she was passing through the tail end of her anxiety attack, having probably reached the zenith when Anne had gone to turn off the lights. How infinitely embarrassing, she moped, to be physically and mentally weak. Especially when Anne was so strong. She would never be able to keep up. 

Anne’s face appeared in front of her, hovering just over the edge of the bed. She held out a few of Ann’s pain killers and a short cup of water. Ann took both, nearly spilling the water in the process. Anne held up Dr. Day’s cream with raised eyebrows. 

“Would this help? No funny business, I promise,” she teased gently. “Do you want to – well, do you need the toilet? Or –?”

Ann groaned. God, of course, she had to be on her period as well. She nodded into the pillow. Anne’s arms wrapped around her again, and soon she was travelling through the air, to the bathroom. 

“Can you…?” Anne trailed off as they reached the threshold. 

“I can do it,” Ann whispered, her cheeks burning. She was certain she had never been so humiliated. 

If Ann hunched over, she could walk with only mild pain. She was tired now, wrung out from crying, but she could hobble through well enough to do what she needed to do. Anne hovered in the doorway, her back turned, allowing Ann her privacy. She bounced on the balls of her feet a few times, clearly trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. 

“Do you want to hear an embarrassing bathroom story about me?” 

Ann laughed breathlessly as she moved about the bathroom behind Anne. 

“Good. One time, I was backpacking through Europe. As I am wont to do. And I had this bowl that was my cereal bowl and, sometimes, in the evenings, I’d get a can of soup for dinner and eat it in that bowl. It was green. Plastic. A very good bowl. Well, I got to the hostel, and the plumbing was out. I couldn’t go any further that day – it was late, and I had my itinerary planned out very carefully. I fell asleep, but in the night, I – well, I needed to use the toilet. The options were: outside, the broken toilet where everyone’s business mingled together, and…and my bowl.”

“You didn’t.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that I used my soup bowl for anything other than its intended use. But I did spend a long time washing it once I got to the next hostel.”

Ann laughed again, waddling painfully to Anne, her tasks completed. She ran her hand along Anne’s hip, and the older woman spun around to face her. 

“Ready?”

Ann nodded, and Anne scooped her up again. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love when you do this?” Ann said softly.

“What?”

“I love that you can pick me up like this. Carry me places.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Walker.” Anne laid her gently on the bed, cocking her head to study her. “I think you’ll have to have all of this off.” Anne gestured to her clothes. “If you want me to rub your back.”

“Please,” Ann whispered. 

Anne slid her hands up Ann’s legs, slowly, before unbuttoning and unzipping her shorts. She slipped them over Ann’s hips and down her legs. Then she inched Ann’s t-shirt over her stomach, sliding her arms gently through the sleeves, then pulling it over her head. Ann felt like a porcelain doll; Anne’s movements were exceedingly gentle, so tender Ann could weep. Here was a woman, strong enough to toss Ann over her shoulder, who was undressing her with the most delicate touch imaginable. Anne nudged her shoulder, and Ann turned slowly to lay on her stomach. Anne unclasped her bra and slipped it out from underneath her. Ann heard the zipper and rustle of Anne’s jeans, then her strong, bare legs bracketed her hips. The comforting, medicinal smell of Dr. Day’s cream filled the room. 

“I was talking to Aunt, before I came downstairs,” Anne said as her hands pressed firmly into Ann’s shoulders. “She was telling me how much she likes you and how careful I have to be to avoid screwing this up.” Anne chuckled. “She said, ‘Anne, if you’re not careful, Little Ann is going to realize what a dolt you are.’ I assured her that you already know. She’s so fond of you. Though she is a bit worried about our age difference. I didn’t dare tell her about my old-fashioned texting this afternoon.”

Ann chuckled at that. Anne’s hands were working steadily down her back, and Ann could feel herself relaxing with every press of Anne’s against her skin. Anne shifted lower, readjusting herself over Ann’s thighs. 

“Thank you,” Ann said softly, “for earlier. When I was so upset. It’s so embarrassing, and I feel so foolish and weak compared to you. Thank you for being patient.”

“You are neither foolish nor weak,” Anne said firmly. “Please don’t ever apologize for being upset. I should have thought about your back more. Today, I mean. This afternoon. Tonight. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“No!” Ann said quickly. “It’s not your fault. It’s – I mean, I wouldn’t trade our afternoon for anything.”

She blushed at the memory of Anne’s taste on her tongue, her wanton cries, her frank discussion of preferences and boundaries. Anne seemed to be having a similar thought, because her hands trailed lightly along her spine, to the waistband of Ann’s panties. She heard Anne inhale deeply, then continue her careful massage. 

“Neither would I,” she husked. 

A long beat passed between them. The room filled with the sound of their breathing, the slick slide of Anne’s hands over her skin, the anticipation crackling in the air. Soft lips pressed to the base of Ann’s neck, then along each bump of her spine. It was sensual, but it wasn’t maddening. Ann felt that same, destination-less tension building between them. She just wanted to melt into Anne’s soft touches. Anne’s mouth made her way to the elastic of her panties, taking them in her teeth and letting them snap back against Ann’s skin before pulling away.

“I hate my back,” Ann whined quietly. “I wish we could –”

“I love your back,” Anne whispered in her ear. She dragged her tongue along Ann’s neck, then started a slow worship of Ann’s back with her lips, teeth, and tongue. “I love your back,” Anne repeated, her words muffled by the closeness of her mouth to Ann’s skin. “I love it because it holds you up, stretches out so you can kiss me. I love the way it presses into my chest when we sleep. I love the way it moves under my hands when I’m holding you. I love the way it flushes with excitement when we’re doing something dirty.”

Ann breathed deeply, trying to cement the words in her brain. She wanted to be able to call them up the next time she doubted herself, the next time she felt weak and pathetic and frail. Anne’s lips were still trailing across her back, and she continued quietly. 

“I love how pale your back is. The one little freckle right here.” Anne pressed her tongue near Ann’s shoulder blade. “The way your skin tastes – salty, when you’re sweaty. Sweet, when you’ve just had a bath. Minty, when you have this cream on. I love these divots, right here,” Anne’s nose slid along the base of her spine, “my thumbs fit right into them when we’re – well, you know.” Ann could feel her grin against her skin. “I love your back. Please don’t say you hate it. I love all of you, even the parts that hurt or ache or itch. And I’ll tell you, my darling Adney, I’m always happy to relieve your hurts, massage your aches, and scratch your itches. Okay?”

Anne’s lips were at her ear again, her breath hot against her neck. Ann nodded, unable to do much else. She wished she could flip over, tear her underwear off, and let Anne ravish her right then. But she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t allow it. Not right now. And that was okay, she was realizing, because Anne was willing to wait. Because Anne loved her anyway. Tears pricked in her eyes anew. 

“None of that,” Anne smiled and swiped Ann’s cheek with her thumb. “I won’t have a pretty girl cry in my bed. Goes against my rakish nature. My playboy lifestyle.” 

Ann chuckled and rolled her eyes. Anne pressed a kiss to her cheek and stood. Ann watched her go into the adjoining room, rifle through Ann’s dresser, find a sleeping shirt, and then scoop her own discarded pajamas from the previous night off the floor. Anne sauntered back to her, tossing Ann her shirt and unbuttoning her own saucily. Ann bit her lip.

“See something you like?” Anne quirked an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you,” Ann laughed, sliding the shirt over her head. The combination of painkillers, massage, and Anne’s affirmations had worked wonders. She was still sore, but remarkably improved. “I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

“Believe it, baby,” Anne teased, tugging on her sweats and faded t-shirt. 

“I just mean – God, I spent fifteen years with this insane, larger-than-life image of you in my mind. And most of the time, you’re just you, a regular person, and I love that. I love,” Ann paused, finding her words, “that I can see you when you’re just doing normal stuff. Like watching a movie or brushing your teeth or tying your shoes. But then, sometimes, you really are larger-than-life.”

“What?” Anne laughed, sliding into bed next to her.

“Just now, you undoing your shirt like that, saying something sexy – that was, like, my number one fantasy. I used to picture that all the time when I was a teenager. You undressing yourself like that. Like you just did. Confident and swaggering and mine.”

“I’m glad, I guess?” Anne shook her head, shrugged, pulled out her readers and the Poirot from the previous night. 

“Me too, Pony.” Ann licked her lips. “God, I love you in those glasses. Damn.”

Anne laughed and shrugged again. Ann could sense she was uncomfortable with the praise, with being Ann’s teenage dream come true, so she just cupped Anne’s face and kissed her softly. Ann pulled away, studying Anne’s handsome face, kissed her once more, then sank down into the pillows. She couldn’t believe it, really, that this was her life. 

“Ready?” Anne said, flicking open the book.

Ann nodded, snuggling into Anne’s chest and sighing deeply. She drifted away to the low melody of Anne’s voice, the rhythm of her even breathing, and the steady beating of her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This whole chapter based on "with A- till 12, lastly rubbing the back of her neck with camphorated spirit of wine - long piece of work to reconcile her...by great tenderness of manner and attention she got back into good spirits and her tears seemed forgotten" January 13, 1835. I think there's a lot to be said for Anne's lack of consideration for Ann at times, but I will absolutely die on the hill that she loved her Adney. 
> 
> The bowl stuff is real, from a Code Breaker post I saw on Twitter, but now I can't find it. Maybe I dreamed it.
> 
> Anyway! Thank you for reading, for your kudos, for your comments. I really do look forward to them and treasure them.


	19. Sunday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a bit of smut at the end - just a heads up if that's not your thing

The sharp scratching of her pen on paper, the persistent patter of rain on the window, the soft snores of her future wife – this was the exact recipe for Anne Lister’s perfect Sunday morning. It was already pouring when Anne woke up, so she’d decided to stay in bed and catch up on her journal. Anne considered making a cup of tea, but just when she started to shift under the covers, Ann had snuggled into her side, tossing one leg over Anne’s lap and an arm across her middle. Effectively locked in place, Anne forgot the tea and spent the next hour scribbling peacefully. 

When she closed her journal and pulled off her glasses, Anne found sleepy blue eyes staring up at her. She shimmied down lower in the bed, bringing her face even with Ann’s. Ann tilted her chin, and Anne brought their lips together. Once - a beat - then again. Ann smiled sleepily and rolled out of bed. Anne watched her go – the slight sway of her hips, the mess of tangled curls, the wrinkled back of her shirt. This would be day three, Anne thought, and Ann had said day two was the worst for her. Perhaps they were over the hump, perhaps Ann would feel more like herself, perhaps later they could – 

“What are you thinking about?” Ann said coyly, slipping under the covers again. 

“You,” Anne said, pulling the smaller woman to her side, “and how you’re feeling.”

“Better.” Ann slipped her leg between Anne’s.

Anne hummed and ran her hand along Ann’s thigh, squeezing gently. It was still early, they had easily an hour, maybe ninety minutes before breakfast. She knew how she would like to while away the time, but she wasn’t sure what Ann was ready for. They’d talked about boundaries, but they hadn’t actually spent much time on what they liked. Anne felt fairly confident she knew what kinds of things Ann preferred, but she wouldn’t mind to hear her say it. Perhaps the discussion of it would lead to –

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“What?” Anne laughed, hand stilling. 

“Tell me something no one knows about you.” Ann’s voice was low, teasing. Her eyes danced playfully. “Something you’ve never told anyone.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Ann nodded, her fingers trailing up Anne’s stomach. “Come on, Pony. You know everything about me, even my darkest and worst secret.” Ann looked away, biting her lip. “Your family is always telling me things I don’t know about you, old stories and things like that. I want to know something about you that no one else knows.”

“Was the story about my using a soup bowl as a toilet not enough?” Anne teased, digging her fingers into Ann’s supple thigh. 

“No,” Ann grinned. “I want more.”

Anne laughed, looked at the ceiling, then back to Ann. She shook her head. Ann had already taken over her bed, her home, her heart. She already meant more to Anne than anyone else ever had – she might as well know more too. 

“Sarah Binns,” Anne said quietly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

“Who’s Sarah Binns? Did you shag her?”

“Exactly,” Anne purred. “Sarah Binns is… was… well, she doesn’t exist.”

“What?”

“I made her up. Years ago, I wanted to make Mariana jealous, so I told her I was carrying on with Sarah Binns. Working-class girl. Young. Hot. We met in a bar. We screwed like crazy,” Anne squeezed Ann’s thigh cheekily. “Mariana went wild. She hated it, but, of course she was married, so – what could she do? Any time I was cross with her, or if I felt that she wasn’t giving me enough attention, I’d say I was going to see Sarah.”

“Anne!” Ann laughed, her eyes lighting up. “You can’t be serious.”

“For a while I had a vibrator I called Sarah, but…” Anne trailed off dramatically. “She died.” She made a mournful face, causing Ann to break into a fit of giggles. Anne wasn’t far behind. 

“You’re awful!” Ann struck her chest lightly. “You never told Mariana?”

“No.”

“Nobody else knows?” 

“Everybody thinks she’s real. Sarah. I couldn’t risk Mariana finding out the truth.”

“Everybody?”

“Marian, Aunt, Tib, the blokes at work. You know.” Anne shrugged.

Ann shook her head again, laughing. Anne sighed happily, one hand kneading Ann’s thigh, the other tracing up and down her back. The rain crashed hard against the window, but Anne could barely hear it. She was too caught up in the press of their bodies, the cadence of their laughter, the overwhelming warmth of their joy.

“Do you feel you know me better now?” Anne asked.

“Oh yeah,” Ann said lowly, “I never knew you had a vibrator.”

“I don’t anymore,” Anne purred. “I don’t need one.” She pulled Ann’s thigh tighter against her, pressing Ann’s center into her hip. 

“What would you do… before we…?” Ann was shy again, watching her own hand tracing over Anne’s stomach. 

“I would stare wistfully out the window and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a girl out there for me.” Anne said loftily.

“Be serious,” Ann’s hand slipped below her shirt and pinched Anne’s hip. “What would you do?”

Anne studied her face for a moment, gauging her sincerity. She wanted to hear Ann’s preferences, but she felt a bit shy about voicing her own. As usual, those blue eyes disarmed her. It was no use resisting. 

“I would just… you know. Touch myself,” Anne said quietly. “Think about sex I’d had before, sex I wanted to have in the future.”

“Like what?”

“Ann,” Anne felt her cheeks growing warm. “I don’t know – it was before I really knew you. It seems weird to talk about.”

“If you were going to do that right now, what would you think about?”

“What?” Anne breathed. 

“If you were going to have a wank right now, what would you think about?” 

Anne bit her lip. This was headed into dangerous territory. She couldn’t deny the twinge of embarrassment any more than she could avoid her growing arousal. Ann was in control again, as she had been yesterday, as she more or less always was when she wanted to be. 

“That time in your TV room, do you remember?” Anne husked. “I was reading, and you turned up. Just beautiful and naked and waiting for me to notice. God, that was –” she twisted her hips, “that was good.”

“It was,” Ann murmured into her shirt. 

“What would you think about?” Anne pressed, happy to turn the attention away from herself. 

“That day in the library,” Ann said thoughtfully. “The day after you proposed. When you wore a strap through a conversation with my sister.”

Anne chuckled, though the memory only stoked her desire further. 

“You fucked me up against a wall,” Ann’s voice was sultry, “in that chair, over the desk. Good Lord, Pony, that was a good one.”

“Is that you favorite? The strap?”

“I don’t know,” Ann’s voice rose an octave as she contemplated. “I don’t think so. I mean, I like it. It’s good. But I think – I think your hands are my favorite.”

“Is that right?” Anne purred, tightening her grip around Ann’s thigh.

“It’s like we’re more connected, you know?” Ann’s cheeks colored, but her voice was strong. “Your hands are more flexible, more precise, when they’re – when they’re there. And then you’re also usually dripping some dirty words in my ear, and that’s even better.”

Anne hummed, enjoying the praise. 

“But then your mouth,” Ann said breathlessly, daring to meet Anne’s eyes for a moment. Ann’s blue eyes were burning with desire. “Your mouth is something else, Pony. Maybe it’s all those languages, but – God, it’s like your tongue can do magic.”

“Who says it can’t?” Anne teased. 

“What’s your favorite?” Ann breathed.

“You’re my favorite,” Anne rolled Ann onto her back, settling comfortably over her. “Touching you is my favorite. Tasting you is my – fuck.” 

Anne couldn’t wait any longer. She caught Ann’s lips, thrusting her tongue forward insistently. Ann whimpered softly, her small hands reaching up to wrap around Anne’s head. Their mouths met hungrily. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since Ann touched her in the chaumière, since Anne had pressed her against the slick shower wall, but it had been two full days since Anne had last buried her head between Ann’s creamy thighs. Anne found herself nearly desperate for it.

“Anne,” Ann gasped, breaking away. Her pupils were blown so wide that her blue eyes were almost black. Anne could feel her hips wriggling below her. “I need you. Can we – the shower, or -?”

“Do you trust me?” Anne whispered.

“Of course.” 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Anne scrambled out of bed, skidding across the room and into the bathroom. She grabbed a towel and a wash cloth, then spun around and raced back, leaping onto the bed. Ann laughed brightly, shaking her head. Anne kissed her quickly, then shifted to settle the towel under Ann’s hips. Ann’s eyebrows knit together, but she didn’t stop Anne tugging her shirt over her head or slipping her panties down her legs. 

“Anne, I – I mean, won’t I – won’t it be messy?” Ann was still panting, but her voice seemed unsure. Anne leaned forward to hover over her face. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Anne said softly. 

“I want to, God, I –” Ann exhaled shakily, “I just – isn’t it gross?”

“I don’t think so. Not to me.”

Ann bit her lip, then nodded. 

“Okay?” Anne searched Ann’s face. 

“Okay,” she breathed, twisting her hips again. “Okay, yes. Yes, please.”

“Okay,” Anne drawled, grinning.

She caught Ann’s lips once more, then pressed her lips along her chin, her throat, the tops of her breasts. Ann hummed in contentment, her fingers tangling gently in Anne’s hair. Anne loved the feeling of a woman below her, in her mouth, but even more she loved the effect she could have. The small moans and air-light whimpers. The curling of fingers and toes. The lifting of hips. 

“Please, Pony,” Ann breathed, “I need you.”

“That’s it,” Anne said, raising her head to meet Ann’s desperate gaze. “That’s my favorite. That moment right there.”

Ann’s high-pitched whimper caught in her throat, her eyes pleading. Anne kissed her belly one final time, before settling at Ann’s core. She pressed her tongue forward, reveling in the coppery taste mixing with Ann’s natural sweetness. She felt, again, the satisfaction of drawing sighs and moans and gasps from the woman she loved. Ann’s hips pressed into her face, her hands now clutching desperately at her hair. Anne knew how badly she had missed this, but she was delighted to find Ann felt the same. She wrapped her hands around Ann’s hips, holding her steady against the soft towel.

“Right there,” Ann whispered, tightening her grip around Anne’s head. “Right there – oh, God, yes, that’s – yes, yes, yes.” 

Ann’s orgasm surprised them both – faster than usual, harsher maybe, more intense. Anne was still coaxing her gently through it when there was a knock at the door. 

“Girls?” Aunt Anne’s light voice was muffled by the door. “It’s nearly breakfast, will you be joining us? Or having a lie-in?”

“Yes!” Anne called, short of breath and wiping her face hastily on the towel. “Yes, we’ll be right down. Thank you.”

“Alright then.” Anne heard her aunt’s cane thump down the hallway and fade away. 

Anne sat back on her heels, smiling at the spent woman before her. She reached for the wash cloth, passing it gently between Ann’s legs and along her inner thighs. Her own desire was abated, quashed by her Aunt’s innocent voice, but she could still revel in the satisfaction of a job well done. Ann was still panting, but her eyes slid open. She laughed. Anne tilted her head in question.

“Come here,” Ann was still laughing. 

“What?” Anne leaned forward.

Ann took the wash cloth from her hand and wiped her cheek, folded it, then wiped her nose. She handed it back with a quirk of her eyebrow. 

“Thank you,” Anne grinned and settled back on her heels. She rested her hands on Ann’s knees, studying her. “How was that?”

“Good,” Ann nodded, that sated smile on her face. “Very good, Pony. You’re very good. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes, actually, I think so,” Anne swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Ann tilted her head to her lap, legs still spread wide over the towel. 

“It’s time for breakfast, my love,” Anne said seriously, trying to keep a straight face; “I think we’d better get dressed.”

“Am I just supposed to get up? What do I do with this? Where have you put my underwear?”

Anne clicked her tongue and bent to lift Ann in her arms. Ann wrapped her arms around her neck, giggling brightly as Anne carried her to the bathroom.

“I’m going to start charging you, Miss Walker, for all these extra lifts,” Anne teased. “I’m not a young woman anymore.”

“But how else will I get around?” Ann matched her tone. “If I can’t ride my Pony?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I felt like I had to follow through on a bit more period sex, and I hope the practicalities of that ring true, it's not too graphic, hopefully still a little warm (I get it, you might not think it's hot). I have really enjoyed exploring the effect of this on the Ann(e)s, but now I think we've completed the cycle (excuse the pun). Ann is on day 3, but we are on day, like, 6 of this arc. I'm not a doctor, but, uh, Ann is going to have a very short cycle. 
> 
> Their position in bed is heavily influenced by the way Anne and Mariana were in bed in Episode 7. God, something about the way Anne's hand moves across her leg...it works for me. 
> 
> The Sarah Binns thing is based on this incredible footnote from Helena Whitbread's The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister: "Sarah Binns was a fictitious person with whom Anne pretended to be carrying on a sexual affair. The girl was, according to Anne, of working-class origin and served Anne's fantasy of keeping a mistress." The first time I read that I HOWLED with laughter.


	20. Sunday Afternoon

To be so muscular, Anne’s thighs actually made a surprisingly comfortable pillow. Ann looked up from her drawing, finding the back of Anne’s latest paperback blocking her view of the woman herself. After Ann’s call with her therapist at midday, they had settled on the couch in the room Anne called the parlor; it was small and sparse – just a worn, plush sofa, a stained coffee table, and two mismatched club chairs. Anne sat on the sofa, stretching her legs in front of her and resting her feet on the table; Ann laid flat on her back, knees bent and head resting in Anne’s lap. The rain still fell outside, more softly now. The television hummed faintly from the other room. Ann sighed contentedly. 

Her body tingled deliciously at the memory of their morning. Though she’d been nervous at first, apprehension was no match for desire, and certainly no match for the way Anne made her feel. Her period was almost behind her now (it usually dropped off sharply on the third day), and she was already planning for one of those long, drawn-out lovemaking sessions they were prone to. One of those mornings where they soaked the bedsheets. One of those afternoons that left her with rugburns and a crick in her neck. One of those evenings where they fell asleep naked and sweaty and sore. God, it was suddenly so warm in here. 

She turned back to her sketchpad – a rough, hurried image of the bookshelves across from her. She turned her head to the side, trying to find another subject. Anne’s sock-clad feet, sticking out from faded running tights. Hmmm. The coffee table, piled high with old magazines and discarded envelopes. Maybe. The window, pelted with rain. Okay. She sketched intently, and, after a while, she was pretty happy with the results. She nudged Anne’s belly with her head. Anne set her book, face-down, over Ann’s leg, using the curve of her thigh as a bookmark. Ann held up the drawing. Anne smiled.

“This is very good, Adney.”

“Thank you.” Ann’s face broke into a proud grin. 

“Do you want to hear what’s happening in my book?”

“Sure.” 

Ann shifted in Anne’s lap, stretching her legs over the arm of the couch to be more comfortable. She loved when Anne told her about the complicated, meandering plots of her novels, or the confusing theses of the nonfiction books she devoured. Sometimes she was genuinely interested, and other times, as now, she just liked to watch Anne get excited. Anne was gesturing wildly, her thighs flexing beneath Ann’s head as she moved, her face bright and animated as she described the vampire, the protagonist, something about a drug dealer? Ann was not listening. She was lost in Anne’s fluid movements, the way her words tumbled out of her mouth, the light flashing in her eyes. 

“It’s so good, seriously,” Anne was winding down, “you have got to read it.”

“I will, Pony, of course,” Ann said, not meaning a word of it. 

“Big Anne,” Marian’s sharp voice called from the hall, “there’s a phone call for you. Something about rents or taxes or something.”

Had the phone rung? Ann had been so transfixed that she hadn’t even heard it. Anne dropped her feet to the floor, and Ann sat up, missing her warm body already. 

“Do you still have a landline?” Ann held out her book. 

“Yes,” Anne sighed, taking the book, marking her place with one of the envelopes, and standing. “It makes things easier with the estate, since I’m not always around. I’ll be right back, hmm?”

Anne kissed her softly on the crown of her head then swept out of the room. Ann leaned back into the couch with a sigh. She felt the way she often did without Anne: deflated. Sometimes she felt like she was just passing time until she would see Anne again. Though she knew they couldn’t spend every moment together, her head reverberated with that persistent question: what now?

“Want to do something fun?” Marian’s head peaked in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Okay,” Ann shrugged and nodded.

“I was cleaning out the bathroom,” Marian said over her shoulder as they climbed the stairs, “and I found all this Halloween stuff. Temporary hair dye, vampire fangs, fake blood.”

“Cool.”

“Want to dress up and take silly pictures?” 

Marian had led her into the cramped hall bathroom. It was old, on the border between outdated and retro, all pink tile and chipped paint and frilly towels. From the toothbrushes on the sink, Ann figured Marian shared with Aunt Anne. The shower had a thick, industrial bar across one wall. The toilet seat wore a furry yellow cover. The sink was littered with boxes and bottles and packages. It actually did seem fun, Ann thought, and Anne would never do something so childish. She grinned at Marian.

“Sure.”

They took fang-baring selfies first. Then they covered their faces in white powder, drawing eyeliner stitches and scars. Another round of photos. Marian dripped blood along their cheeks, at the corners of their mouths. More pictures. 

“Oh, I can’t wait for Halloween,” Marian laughed, scrolling through the photos. 

“I don’t usually dress up.”

“You don’t?” Marian seemed surprised. “You will this year. We get tons of trick-or-treaters. Old, creepy house and all that. Not to mention the mean, scary owner who always wears black. Very spooky.”

Marian poked her in the ribs, and Ann laughed and shook her head. She couldn’t imagine Anne on Halloween. 

“It’ll be fun,” Marian nodded, sorting through the remnants left in the sink. She held up a box. “Want to dye your hair?”

“What?” Ann sputtered, halfway between laughter and shock. 

“It’s temporary! Washes right out. I’ve done it loads.”

“I don’t know,” Ann hedged. “What color is it?”

“Pink.”

“Oh, I –” she had wondered what she would look like with colored hair. It was only for a photo. “Okay. Sure.”

Marian’s eyes lit up, and they spent the next half hour mixing the dye in a bowl, draping a towel around Ann’s shoulders, then carefully painting the goop onto her curls. It seemed rather complicated for temporary color, but Ann figured Marian knew what she was doing. Besides, she was enjoying the company. Marian was funny and dry and silly in a way that reminded her of Anne, but was still unique. Marian told her about her ex-boyfriends, the time she’d found Captain Lister crying while watching a romantic comedy, her involvement in local politics. Ann felt rather sorry for her, in this moment, realizing what a hardworking, intelligent, and interesting person Marian was, but one who would always live in the shadow of her older sister. 

“What do you think?” Marian spun her around to face the mirror. 

Ann’s jaw fell open. The color was garish. Too dark a pink. Almost red, really. She looked like she was wearing a wig. Her blonde hair – one of the few things she really loved about herself – it was gone. 

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “It’s rather dark, isn’t it?”

“I followed the directions,” Marian clicked her tongue, examining the box. “Well, let’s not do any pictures if you don’t like it. Go ahead and wash it out. This was fun though.”

Ann nodded mutely, turning on the shower. She couldn’t wait to get this color out. She bent her head under the stream of cool water, watching pink tendrils swirling down the drain. Her neck ached from the odd angle. Everything was pink – the tile, her hair, the water. She felt like she might drown in the Pepto-Bismol of it all. Marian draped a clean towel over her shoulders, and Ann straightened. Marian dried her hair gently, rubbing the soft towel through her curls. 

“I’m sorry, Ann,” Marian said softly, running a comb through her damp hair. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“It’s okay. I’m not upset. Just – uh, surprised. It’ll come out.”

Marian dug out an old hair dryer and blew out Ann’s hair. Ann started to relax. It was okay. The color was gone. It was fine. No need to get so upset over something as childish as hair. It was fine. She would be back to normal now anyway.

“Oh, Ann,” Marian clicked off the hairdryer. “I did think it was temporary.”

“What?” 

Ann turned to the mirror. Her hair was pink. Still. But softer now. Paler. Not so aggressive. She turned her head in the mirror, assessing the way this unfamiliar color brought out her freckles, her eyes, her skin. 

“We can get some blonde color and go right over this,” Marian babbled. “Uh, we can call a stylist or something – I think I know a girl who could –”

“I like it,” Ann said quietly. “Now that it’s lighter. It’s – it’s kind of cool, isn’t it?”

“Really?” Marian’s face broke into a smile.

“Yeah, I mean – what do you think?”

“I think it looks great. It’s a good color for you. Makes you look brighter, or – I don’t know. It looks really good.”

“Yeah,” Ann nodded to her reflection. “I think I like it.”

“Wait until Anne sees,” Marian winked in the mirror before turning to tidy the room.

Ann’s stomach dropped. All those lovely, warm, confident feelings dropped away. Shit. What would Anne think? She was so old-fashioned about so many things. She might not like a fiancée with pink hair. What if Anne didn’t find her attractive anymore? Her heart beat in her ears as she walked slowly to their bedroom. Anne wouldn’t like it, she decided. They would have a terrific row about it, and then she’d be trapped here. She supposed she could go back to Crow Nest. The thought of that big, empty house made Ann shiver. Perhaps Anne wouldn’t say anything directly, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Ann would be able to tell though. Anne would pull away from her; she wouldn’t look at her the way she used to. She wouldn’t touch her the way she used to. Ann’s chest tightened.

She didn’t know how long she spent perched on the edge of their bed like that – panicking, playing increasingly horrific images of Anne’s disgust in her head. All at once, Anne’s heavy tread thundered down the hallway. The door flung open.

“Ann? Marian said I should come see you, that you were –”

Anne’s eyes fell on her, finally, and Ann braced for impact. Anne’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide. She stuck her head out in the hallway, looked both ways, then closed the door gently. Ann stood, tugging at her hair, as if she could pull the pink out of it. Anne crossed the room in two strides and caught Ann in her arms, crashing their lips together. Ann squeaked in surprise, but Anne was unstoppable. She pressed Ann into the wall, tongue sliding in her mouth, hands gripping her hips, pelvis grinding into her. Ann melted, nothing but a pile of mush between the hard wall and Anne’s strong body. She had forgotten her panic. Anne broke away, panting.

“Fuck,” she exhaled. “You look so fucking good.”

“Really?” Ann breathed.

“Oh my God, Adney, yes.” Anne took a half-step backward, raising one hand to twist in her pink locks. “Jesus fucking Christ, I love this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Anne said seriously, eyes still fixed on her hair. “I love your hair usually, but – fuck, this is so hot. I want you so badly right now. You and your rocker girl hair.”

Ann laughed and kissed her softly. 

“Then have me.”

“Yeah? What about your –?”

“I think I’m okay,” Ann smoothed one hand down the front of Anne’s shirt. 

Anne grinned and hoisted Ann into her arms. Ann, giggling, wrapped her legs around Anne’s waist and pressed a kiss to Anne’s neck. Anne nuzzled her nose in Ann’s hair, a growl rising in her throat. Ann bounced against the soft mattress, while Anne stood over her, head cocked the side. 

“You know,” her voice was low and smooth, “when I think about you, I think pink.” She ghosted her hands over the elastic of Ann’s shorts, pulling them gently down her legs. “Aunt Anne, I think of mauve. That off-purple, you know?”

Anne was now tracing her hands under her shirt, over Ann’s ribcage, her breath hot in Ann’s ear as she knelt over her. Ann ran her hands over Anne’s back, unsure why Anne wanted to talk about her aunt at a time like this. 

“Father, I think of brown,” Anne was now massaging her breasts through her bra. “Like his uniform. Marian is plaid – all loud with blue and red mixed together.” Anne nipped at her ear. “And you are pink.”

Ann sighed at the gravelly timbre of Anne’s voice, the exquisite roll of her hips, the maddening touch of her fingers. She lifted her hips, hoping Anne would move lower, but she was somehow still talking. Teasing. 

“You had that pink bedspread,” she pressed her pelvis into Ann’s, “and the first time I made love to you, you were on that bedspread. Do you remember?”

Ann nodded, eyes slipping closed. Anne shifted above her, one forearm pressing into the mattress by her head, her right hand trailing down Ann’s stomach, her legs straddling Ann’s bare thigh. Her running tights felt slippery against Ann’s skin. 

“You get so flushed,” Anne’s tongue traced along her neck, “your chest especially.” Her fingers dipped into her panties. “I can always tell when you’re embarrassed or upset or,” she circled Ann’s entrance, “wet.”

Ann whimpered shakily. She dug her fingers into the bicep of Anne’s right arm, a silent plea. Anne kissed her collarbone, tracing her entrance slowly. 

“The time Eliza Priestly interrupted us,” Anne was at her neck again, “your underwear was pink that day. It was delicate and lacy and I knew it would smell divine. Like you.”

Ann breathed a half-chuckle. Only Anne Lister could make sniffing panties seem so very erotic. She tugged at Anne’s arm more insistently. She was enjoying this slow build, but, God, she needed more. 

“Then there’s that strap you bought. For me. For us,” Anne’s teeth tugged at her earlobe. “It’s pink too.” 

Anne eased a single finger inside, and Ann moaned. She bit her lip, catching the sound in her throat, reminding herself of the others in the house. Though her eyes were closed, she could hear Anne’s grin as she started to speak in rhythm with her gentle thrusts. 

“Everything about you is pink,” Anne’s words were warm and slow and soft – like honey. “Your lips, your skin, your hair –” Anne broke off, pulling away.

Ann’s eyes shot open. Anne straightened and pulled Ann’s panties further down her legs, her eyes still fixed on Ann’s. She thrust back into her, more now, and Ann’s back arched at the intrusion. Anne started rolling her hips on Ann’s thigh in time with the persistent movement of her fingers. Ann reached one hand into the air, not quite able to reach her. Anne caught it, leaning forward just enough to press it to her sternum. Anne was panting in earnest now, sweat gathering at her hairline. The tendons of her arm stood out as she filled Ann over and over, her thumb strumming Ann’s clit. Her hips were rutting urgently; her grip around Ann’s hand had turned her knuckles white. Ann could feel Anne’s heart racing. For a moment, she fancied it was beating in sync with her own. 

As the warm build of her release grew, Ann could feel Anne’s desperation in her hands, in her hips, in her thighs. The slick slap of their skin filled the room, underscored by heavy breathing and Ann’s mumbling curses. She couldn’t stop herself, could barely keep it to a mumble – it was so good, it was too god, it was – 

“Anne!” Her voice was high-pitched, desperate, no louder than a breath. She seized and trembled, still rolling her hips into Anne’s hand, dragging it out, needing more, never wanting this euphoria to end. 

Anne fell forward, burying her face in Ann’s hair, her hips moving desperately against Ann’s leg. Soon she, too, was muttering and shaking, until, finally, they were both still. Anne pressed her lips to Ann’s sweaty neck, then rolled onto her back. Ann shimmied her underwear up her over hips and rolled onto her side to face Anne, who was panting and grinning at the ceiling. 

“Remind me to get down on my knees and worship whoever got you to do that to your hair. Who was it? Elizabeth? Catherine?”

“Marian,” Ann grinned.

“Marian?!” Anne turned her head sharply. “Marian? This Marian? Our Marian?”

Ann shrugged, her smiling waning. 

“Leave it to Marian to do something so ridiculous and impossible and infuriating!” 

Ann’s stomach twisted. Did Anne not like her hair after all? Anne stood and started pacing. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Marian. 

“So absolutely inconsiderate to make my wife more attractive, more beautiful, more irresistible.” Anne was ranting in earnest now. “It is so thoughtless and so typical of her. She knew this would distract me – that I wouldn’t be able to –” 

“Pony,” Ann said gently, “are you going to stand there and talk about your sister or will you come back to your attractive, beautiful, irresistible wife?”

Anne chuckled and fell back onto the bed next to Ann, wrapping her in her arms. Ann pressed her head into Anne’s chest with a grin.

“You keep saying ‘wife,’ have you noticed?” Ann said into her shirt. 

“Do I?” Anne’s hands were tracing shapeless patterns across her back. 

“You said it to Tib, as well.”

Anne hummed, her hands slipping lower, below her waistband. 

“Did I miss our wedding?” Ann teased. 

“No,” Anne rolled her eyes and flipped Ann onto her back. “Wife is shorter. Easier to say. More permanent.”

“Right,” Ann nodded, running her fingers through Anne’s dark hair.

“We’ll have a wedding. When everything is open again. But for now, ‘fiancée’ feels – juvenile, I think.” Anne’s gaze was serious, contemplative. “I think of you as my wife, hmm? Do you mind?”

“No,” Ann said simply, tilting her chin. Anne brought their lips together slowly once, then twice. “But, wife,” Ann teased, “you realize tomorrow is only three weeks since you showed up on my doorstep?”

“Is that not long enough?” Anne’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying it’s too soon?”

“No,” Ann said again. 

“Are you sure?”

“Anne Lister, I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> And thank you, Sophie Rundle, for dying your hair pink. What an inspiration. 
> 
> I know literally 0 about dying hair, so please forgive any impossibilities in there. I did read one (1) article, which is how I came up with the washing it out to make it lighter, but that's where my research ended.
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments and support. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy your feedback, especially those of you, grinding every day through this drivel and sharing your thoughts so generously.


	21. Sunday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TECHNICALLY it's Monday morning. So sue me.

“Pony! Wake! Up!” Ann’s urgent whispers cut through the fog of sleep encompassing her fiancée. “Anne! Please!”

Anne opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the light. Ann had turned on her lamp and was now shaking Anne’s shoulder with fervor. Anne looked at the clock: 2:13. They hadn’t actually fallen asleep until nearly midnight, sweaty and spent and satisfied. Now, however, Anne’s head throbbed and her body ached. She rubbed her eyes and looked at Ann with a grimace. 

“I’m awake, darling, I’m –” she took Ann’s hand to still her, “what is it?”

“There’s someone in the house.”

“Ann,” she groaned, “we’ve talked about this. I locked all the doors. You were with me tonight while I did it. I know the house is unfamiliar, but –”

A loud crash sliced through the night. Ann gestured desperately over her shoulder. 

“Someone broke in,” she hissed, fear coloring her face. 

“Okay,” Anne nodded, patting Ann’s arm. “I’ll go look.”

She slid out of bed, wondering if she should put something over her boxers. The sound of another thump downstairs urged her on, pants or not. Her sleep-fuddled mind hadn’t believed Ann at first, but she couldn’t deny that someone was downstairs making noise. Ann followed her into the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” Anne soothed.

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?”

“I’m brave now, and I have this.” Ann brandished her golf club. 

“Okay,” Anne nodded indulgently.

She strode purposefully to the hall closet, unlocking the gun safe as quietly as she could. There was definitely someone downstairs, but she couldn’t see light coming from any of the other bedrooms. Everyone else must still be asleep. Ann grabbed her arm as she loaded her rifle. 

“What are you doing?” Ann whispered, eyes trained on the gun.

“I am investigating.” Anne said calmly, even has her stomach twisted. She could definitely hear someone shuffling around downstairs. She considered telling Ann to go back to bed, for her own safety.

“Why do you have a gun?” 

“Not now,” Anne hissed.

They crept down the stairs, Ann’s small hand grasping the back of her shirt. Anne gripped her rifle tightly, intending to use it more as a threat than anything. She had registered the gun for sharpshooting years ago, but she never went out anymore. She hoped the intruder would see the weapon and leave without a fuss. They followed the noise into the kitchen, hovering outside the doorway in trepidation. Anne inhaled, steadying herself, and turned to look at Ann over her shoulder. The poor girl was as white as a sheet, golf club held in a shaky hand, her cotton-candy hair piled high on her head. Anne pressed her lips to the hand gripping her shoulder, then stepped into the dim kitchen. 

“Put your hands up,” Anne bellowed, shouldering the rifle.

“It’s me! Don’t shoot me, you nutter!” 

“Marian,” Anne sighed and lowered the gun, leaning it carefully against the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Having a snack.” Marian shrugged, gesturing to the ice cream in her hand, the crisps littering the counter, the candy wrappers strewn throughout. 

“At two o’clock in the morning?” Anne barked. 

Ann had released her shoulder and lined her club up with Anne’s rifle. The two weapons together like that would’ve made Anne laugh if she weren’t so tired and annoyed. Ann was now digging through the crisps, as if she hadn’t been completely terrorized a moment ago. 

“I live here too, you know.” Marian shot back. “I’m allowed to eat.”

“Do you have to be so loud about it? You woke us up.”

“I dropped a bowl. Sorry.” Marian’s mouth was full of ice cream.

“Ann thought you were a murderer.”

“I didn’t say that!” Ann protested. 

“You did say someone broke in.”

Ann considered, then nodded with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry, Little Ann.” Anne noted that Marian’s apology this time was not muffled by ice cream. Typical. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Can we go to bed?” Anne said sardonically. 

“She’s awfully grouchy, isn’t she?” Marian said to Ann. “I don’t know how you stand it.”

“It’s exhausting,” Ann teased. She took Anne’s arm. “Let’s go, Pony.”

“Pony?” Marian asked, her eyebrows raised. 

“Uh – no, n- what?” Ann stuttered. Anne groaned. It was too late. 

“Is that your little nickname?” Marian was loving this. Anne could have smacked her. 

“Um – it, no, I mean, it –” Ann’s face was turning the same color as her hair. 

“Leave it alone, Marian,” Anne said flatly, patting Ann’s hand on her arm. “We’re going to bed.”

“Okay, Pony girl,” Marian teased. 

“Marian,” Anne warned, feeling Ann tensing beside her.

“Little horse girl,” Marian sneered. “Does Little Ann feed you apples and carrots from her hand? Do you let her brush your mane?”

“Stop,” Anne tried to make her voice as firm as possible, which, of course, only spurred Marian on.

“Little Ann is such a good influence on you,” Marian said in a baby voice. “You used to be a stallion: wild, untamed. Now you’re a good little pony. That’s sweet.”

“Go ahead,” Anne said quietly to Ann, “I’ll be right there.”

Ann nodded, still blushing, and disappeared. Anne wheeled around on her sister.

“That was really very cruel, just then.”

“What?” Marian deflated and started packing up her feast. “I was teasing you. Grow up.”

“You were teasing Ann. You don’t know her well enough for that.”

“Come on, we’re friends,” Marian scoffed.

“Not like that. Maybe in the future, but not yet. She’s very sensitive, okay?”

Marian opened her mouth to speak, then sighed and went into the pantry. Anne folded her arms and waited for her to reemerge. 

“I’m serious, Marian. You need to apologize to her.”

“I wasn’t making fun of her,” Marian whipped her head in frustration. “I was making fun of you! She understands that.”

“I’m not sure she does. She and her sister are not – they’re not like us. She doesn’t know you very well.”

Marian said nothing, clearing the last of the trash off the counter. She was pouting now, having recognized that she had overstepped, but she wouldn’t admit it, not yet. Anne knew that complete admission was the only defense here; trying to obfuscate, deny, or avoid would just heighten the teasing later on. They had been through this many times; she knew the pattern. Marian would only back down in the face of sincere, genuine vulnerability. God, she hated her. 

“Look,” Anne said softly, “Pony is – it’s her little nickname for me. Okay? I don’t even know where it came from or why she uses it, but – but it’s hers and mine, and –” Anne shook her head, wishing she didn’t have to show this side of herself to Marian. “I actually do love it. Alright? It’s very sweet, and it’s – it’s how I know she’s okay, she’s happy with me. She really only calls me ‘Anne’ in front of people or when she’s upset.” Anne decided to leave out the times Ann cried her name in bed. “Based on her reaction just now, she clearly doesn’t want to share that with anyone. I don’t – I don’t know how to explain it. It’s – I mean, I feel like I’m explaining our bedroom secrets to you, Marian. That’s how – that’s how intimate it is. You can make fun of me when it’s just us, but not in front of her. If you tease her and she stops using it, not only will you have taken something very special from both of us, but I will kill you. I mean it. Because I love it, and I love her.”

Marian seemed taken aback by Anne’s speech, and for a long moment they just stared at each other. Marian bit her lip, then nodded. Anne hummed and retrieved her rifle and Ann’s forgotten golf club.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll go apologize to her.”

“No,” Anne held up a hand, “not tonight. In the morning. She’ll be too embarrassed tonight. Tomorrow. First thing, okay?”

“Okay.” Marian stared at her slippers. 

“And for God’s sake, Marian, try to be quieter when you’re pigging out in the middle of the night.” Anne said over her shoulder. She could hear Marian chuckling behind her. 

Ann was waiting for her just outside the doorway; her eyes were dry, but the tracks of her tears were still visible on her pale skin. Anne wrapped an arm around her, and they climbed the stairs silently. Ann went into their room, and Anne stowed the gun. When she crawled into bed, Ann had her head propped on her fist, waiting. 

“I heard what you said.”

“Did you?” Anne wondered where this would go – would Ann be more upset? Was she grateful to be defended? Did she (fingers crossed) like Marian a little less now?

“Thank you,” Ann said quietly. “I thought it was very sweet.”

“Well, I hope you understand Marian was not taking a crack at you. She was trying to needle me, but she’s so clumsy about it, she –”

“I know,” Ann nodded. “Thank you, Pony.”

Anne kissed her softly, once, twice, a third time. She rolled Ann onto her back, settled between her legs, and kissed her once more before pulling away. That pink hair, spread across the pillow in the low light of their bedroom – Anne suddenly wasn’t tired anymore. 

“Why do you have a gun?” Ann asked, smoothing her hand along Anne’s cheek. 

“So I can threaten Marian in the middle of the night,” Anne dropped her head to drag her lips across Ann’s neck.

“Really, Pony, why do you have it?” Ann tangled her fingers in Anne’s hair, scratching her scalp lightly. 

“Target practice,” Anne said into her shoulder. “I used to be pretty good.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh,” Anne slid her hands under Ann’s shirt, “yeah.”

“That’s pretty h–” Ann gasped as Anne’s thumbs circled her nipples.

“It’s what?” Anne grinned, relishing the effect she was having.

“It’s hot.”

Ann’s eyes had slipped closed, her back arching gently into the touch. Anne dragged her teeth along Ann’s jugular, watching the flush rise along her neck. She loved how responsive Ann was, how quickly Anne could turn her on. Ann’s breath came more quickly, her nipples straining under Anne’s hands, her legs bent and squeezing Anne’s hips. She rolled her hips against Ann’s, humming in harmony with Ann’s soft groan. 

“I'll have to show you sometime,” Anne husked in her ear, “would you like that?” 

Ann nodded, that pink halo covering the pillow. Anne slid her hands down Ann’s torso, shifting to rest her weight on one forearm. Ann spread her legs wider, sighing and sliding her hands along Anne’s shoulders. The familiarity of their movements struck Anne suddenly; they were so good together – well-practiced, simple, comfortable.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you?” Anne husked, dipping into Ann’s waistband. “You’re ready for it?”

“Yeah,” Ann breathed, swirling her hips. 

“You think I’ll just give it to you?” Anne traced her fingertips through Ann’s arousal. 

“Yeah,” Ann smiled, her eyes closed. 

“Wake me up in the middle of the night,” Anne slipped her finger over Ann’s clit, grinning at her soft mew. “Make me go downstairs,” she teased her entrance, “in my underwear,” she slipped inside, “and then bring me back up here,” she started a slow rhythm, “to fuck you.”

A gentle smile spread across Ann’s face, soft sighs dripping from her lips with every thrust. Anne added another finger and grinned – how easy it was between them, how tenderly Ann’s hands gripped her shoulders, how soft and tight and wet Ann was. She was so beautiful like this: her air-light moans, her sharp white teeth on her lip, her pink hair swirling around her. 

“I can’t decide,” Anne whispered, “if I should drag this out as punishment.” Ann whimpered. “No? You don’t want that, darling?”

Ann shook her head, freeing more of that glorious pink hair from its confines. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her nipples straining through her t-shirt. The sight made Anne crazy. She was suddenly unable to hold herself back. Her hand sped up, curling and twisting and stretching Ann with every thrust. Her thumb slipped over Ann’s clit, clumsily at first – she was too desperate, moving too quickly. Finally, she found her rhythm – stroking Ann purposefully, moving her hips in time with her hand. 

“I don’t think I can,” Anne panted. “I don’t think I can draw it out. I – fuck, I love you. I love you like this. I love you, Adney.”

Ann nodded, eyes screwed shut, hips rutting urgently to meet Anne’s strokes. She was close; Anne could feel it – the tension in her thighs, the grasping of her fingers, the fluttering of her core. Anne pressed her lips to Ann’s neck, nosing her face deeper into those pink curls. There was nothing better than this, Anne knew, nothing better than this exquisite connection of their bodies. The delicious, dirty sounds filling the air. The clutching, wet tightness around Anne’s fingers. The feeling of bringing absolute pleasure to the woman she loved.

“Yes, Pony, yes,” Ann gasped, “harder, please, Pony, yes, yes, yes.”

Anne caught Ann’s lips, muffling her cries, as she slammed into her harder, faster, deeper. Ann trembled below her, her fingernails digging into Anne’s skin. The muscles in Anne’s arm were burning, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t keep herself from drawing every drop of ecstasy from her wife. Finally, Ann sagged, her hands dropping to the mattress with a sigh. Anne eased out of her, gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek before rolling onto her back. 

“Oh God,” Ann breathed, “God, Pony.” She crawled on top of her, “I love you so much.”

Anne smiled, settling her hands on Ann’s hips. She almost couldn’t believe how beautiful Ann was – the sharp line of her chin, the soft swell of her breasts, the gentle curl of her hair. Anne reached one hand up to pull her hairtie free, sliding it onto her wrist and shaking the pink locks loose. Ann bit her lip and slipped her hand into Anne’s boxers. Anne gasped at the first swipe to her clit, reaching out for Ann’s arm, grounding herself. Ann teased her languidly. It was unusual –Anne almost always settled for a frantic, hurried finish from her own hand or a tired, sated partner ready to crawl under the covers. Not tonight. Or this morning. Whatever time it was – Ann was moving slowly, patiently. 

“That’s good,” Anne breathed. “Right there, my love, ri- unh, yes, Ann, yes, that’s –”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Ann leaned down and pressed her lips to Anne’s jaw. “You have so much to say, Pony.” Her hand moved more firmly, more quickly. Anne bit her lip, trying to stave off her release. “I think I can figure it out, baby. I think I’m doing just fine. Actually, I think you’re already going to come for me. Aren’t you?”

Anne nodded, warmth already suffusing her body. Her thighs trembled. Her back arched. She could feel sweat sliding down her back, along her neck, in her hairline. Ann’s hand moved steadily, urgently now; her lips caught Anne’s. Anne let herself go with a shudder and a gasp, surrendering herself to Ann’s nimble fingers, her soft lips, the curtain of her hair. 

“That’s right,” Ann murmured against her lips. “You look so good, my Pony; you feel so good.”

Anne relaxed into the sheets, panting and sliding her eyes open. Ann was still bent over her, pressing her lips to Anne’s cheeks, chin, and forehead. She reached one hand up to twist in those pink locks, pulling Ann down to kiss her lips once more. They met tenderly for a long moment, until Ann pulled away, catching Anne’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. She chuckled, shook her head, and rolled onto her back. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before snuggling into Anne’s side, resting her head on Anne’s chest and trailing one hand along her sternum. Anne traced her hand along Ann’s back, her mind still catching up to her body.

“Do I really talk too much?” Anne broke the silence.

“Oh my God,” Ann tilted her head to look at her, then rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding?”

“Do I?”

“Forget it,” Ann reached for the covers. 

“I don’t think I talk too much,” Anne said quietly.

“Of course not, darling, of course you don’t,” Ann said indulgently, wrapping her arm around Anne’s waist. 

“Of course not,” Anne nodded, pleased to have gotten the response she wanted. “Of course not.”

“I love your voice,” Ann said sleepily. 

“Yes, you’ve said that,” Anne stroked her back, preening under Ann’s praise. “You know, tomorrow, I was thinking we could –”

“Pony,” Ann squeezed her hip, “I’m tired.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Anne shifted to get comfortable. “Do you think –”

“Pony,” Ann groaned, “go to sleep.”

“I am. I am.” Anne closed her eyes, but her mind was racing. She waited a beat. “I was wondering –”

“Anne Lister, if you don’t shut your trap, I am going to push you out the window.”

Anne opened her mouth to agree, then thought perhaps even saying that much would lead to her defenestration. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, forcing herself to stay quiet until she fell asleep to the steady melody of Ann’s soft snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Anne's gun ownership based on her well-documented affinity for pistols in real life. I did minimal research on gun laws in the UK (aka I read two articles), so I hope this isn't unrealistic for modern day. I'm not a gun person, really have 0 experience with them, but it seems like something Anne would have. She seems the type to fill out all the paperwork too.
> 
> I don't know about any of y'all with siblings, but being open and vulnerable is the only way I can get my sister to leave me alone with stuff like this. Owning up to it takes away all the ammunition and fun from teasing. That feels like a sisterly thing to me - hope that didn't seem too out of left field for you all. 
> 
> Thank you for the kindest, most generous comments. Truly, y'all are too kind to me. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, every comment makes me smile, keeps me motivated, and improves my writing.


	22. Ann's Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is roughly three times the size of my normal chapters...I'm sorry? You're welcome? Grab yourself a cuppa and settle in.

Ann had thought perhaps Anne would linger in bed the next morning, given how little sleep they got, but by the time her alarm rang, Anne was long gone, her side of the bed cool to the touch. Ann trudged to the bathroom, jumped in the shower, and got dressed. She opted for a grey t-shirt and teal shorts; she hadn’t considered the effect of her new hair color on her wardrobe. Was it too much to wear pink and have pink hair? She would have to get used to it first before she decided. 

There was a knock at the door.

“Little Ann? Are you awake?” Marian’s voice was quiet, almost timid.

“Yes,” Ann opened the door, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, uh – can I talk to you for a second?”

“Okay,” Ann stepped aside, letting Marian into the room. She knew what was coming, her stomach already twisting in anxiety. Accepting apologies was almost as nerve-wracking as having to give them.

“I just – uh, I wanted to say I’m really sorry about what I said last night,” Marian looked her in the eye, then down at the floor. “I was way out of line, and I was trying to annoy my sister, and – I overstepped.” Marian raised her head to meet Ann’s gaze. “I really enjoy having you here, and I wouldn’t want to do or say anything that makes you uncomfortable. I was – I mean, it was rude,” Marian forced a laugh. “I was being a shit. To Anne. But not to you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ann smiled. “I understand.”

“Oh, thank you,” Marian’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you, seriously. I appreciate it.”

Ann smiled back, unsure what to say.

“Want to help me make breakfast? I was thinking French toast.”

“Sure.”

Ann didn’t actually know how to make French toast, but Marian was very patient. They goofed around a lot, making more of a mess than Anne ever did, but by the end, they had a fairly respectable stack of toast, bacon, and eggs. Ann helped Marian set the table, find Captain Lister’s newspaper outside the door, refill Argus’s food bowl. She found a certain joy in these routine, domestic tasks, and she started to wonder if she would ever be in charge of these things. She was content to let Marian take the lead, but she also wouldn’t mind keeping house for Anne. She wondered if she and Anne would ever live on their own, even for a few months; she started picturing a ‘Leave It To Beaver’ world – sending Anne to work in the morning with a kiss, fixing her a drink when she came home, long evenings cuddled on a sofa made just for them. 

“Not so hard, was it?” Marian asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“No, it was fun! Thanks for letting me help.”

“I was glad to have you,” Marian said genuinely. “It’s hard without Cordingley around. We’ll get used to it.” 

“Yeah, I can help whenever,” Ann offered.

“You are welcome in my kitchen any –”

“Darling!” Anne interrupted, sweeping into the room and pressing a firm kiss to Ann’s cheek. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ann grinned, not even noticing Marian slip out of the room. 

“Has my sister been putting you to work?” Anne surveyed the dirty dishes in the sink.

“We had a good time.”

“Did she –”

“We’re all fine now,” Ann nodded, smoothing Anne’s collar. 

Anne was dashing, as ever, in a crisp, black shirt, buttoned neatly up the front but open at the neck; she had rolled her sleeves up and tucked the tails into black jeans, capped by her standard black boots, now muddy from her morning walk. Ann looked pointedly at these, and Anne scoffed and rolled her eyes, kneeling to unlace them. Ann grinned and ran her hand through Anne’s hair, scratching her scalp gently. Anne lifted her head and nipped Ann’s bare thigh with her teeth. Ann, laughing, went into the dining room.

Breakfast was now a spectator sport. Ann, Aunt Anne, and the Captain watched the two sisters volley back and forth, trading quips and digs and ancient, childhood stories all trying to embarrass the other. At one point, Captain Lister started a completely new conversation with Ann about her gardens, which made her heart soar. By the time she tuned back in to Anne and Marian, they were arguing about a pet hedgehog they’d had as children. Ann reached her hand under the table to squeeze Anne’s knee gently, then to trace light circles over her thigh. She watched Anne bite her cheek, shift her hips, and attempt to continue to spar with Marian, but it was no use. She was distracted, leading to an unusual victory for the younger Lister sister. 

“Not fair,” Anne hissed as the rest of the family left the room. “I don’t appreciate you drawing naughty shapes on my leg while I’m arguing with Marian.”

“I don’t appreciate you spending all of breakfast peacocking around and trying to outperform your sister, when you could be talking to me.”

Anne opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She narrowed her eyes, studying Ann. Ann met her gaze, her fingers inching higher – a dare. Anne shook her head and grabbed her hand.

“Not here, Miss Walker. I swear, that hair of yours has made you absolutely wild.”

“Perhaps you ought to teach me a lesson.”

Anne’s eyes blazed with desire, and Ann’s heart raced. Maybe they could go out to the chaumière, spend a few hours wrapped up – 

“Anne, darling,” Aunt Anne thumped into the room, shattering the moment. “Big Anne, I mean,” she laughed as both women turned to her, “would you walk an old lady through the garden this morning? My doctor says I need to get more exercise, and I’m tired of walking with Marian. Little Ann, you can come with us, of course, though I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“I wish I could, Aunt,” Anne stood, “but I have a video call with the fellows from work this morning. Next year’s scheduling and all that.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Ann offered. “If you wouldn’t mind my company.”

“I would be delighted,” Aunt Anne smiled warmly. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ann followed Aunt out the back door, pausing to let her slip into her snow-white sneakers. Ann stepped into a pair of sandals, taking Aunt’s arm as they walked out into the weak morning sun. They followed the worn paths through the garden, enjoying the cool air in silence for a few moments. 

“Have you always lived at Shibden?” Ann asked.

“Yes,” Aunt nodded, “my entire life. For a long time, it was just me and my brother – not Jeremy, James. We were both independent sorts, and he ran the estate, of course.”

“Right.”

“After Anne was – well, after she left school,” Aunt said carefully, “she came to stay with us, which was a joy. She never got along with her mother, which was hardly her fault, really.”

“Why is that?” 

Ann longed to know more about Anne, everything she could, but Anne was so guarded about her childhood. Aunt Anne sighed and didn’t speak for a few, long moments. Ann worried she had overstepped. 

“She was an alcoholic,” Aunt’s sad voice was tinged with bitterness. “It’s terrible to say, but it’s the truth. And they lost three children, Jeremy and Rebecca did. Died very young. She’d always been a bit, shall we say, free with the bottle, but – it was a bad situation. Anne being the oldest, she saw a lot more of it than Marian did. Combine that with Anne’s – you know how Anne is.” They both chuckled. “She’s always been like that, even as a little girl. Rebecca couldn’t cope.”

Ann nodded, unsure how to respond. 

“Of course, there was Sam, as well.”

Ann remembered snatches of Anne mentioning her brother Sam, but she never said very much.

“She doesn’t talk about him,” Ann said quietly.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Aunt Anne patted her arm. “He was very special to her. He died in the Navy, only twenty. It was this tremendous blow – for all of us, really, but Anne was – she was really having trouble. She’ll tell you sometime, when she’s ready. You’ve lost a lot of people, my dear, and so has our Anne. You have that in common.”

Ann nodded, a lump forming in her throat. Why hadn’t Anne told her these things? They seemed so important. Anne didn’t spend long on her past – other than her sexual exploits, Anne spoke almost exclusively of the future. She was always planning the next thing, very rarely sharing the difficulties in her family history. She projected an image of having been born, fully-formed, the playboy professor and owner of Shibden Hall; Ann wondered how she could coax this part of Anne out of her shell. She wondered if she needed to, if it even mattered. They had turned back toward the house, its impressive figure looming ahead of them. Ann tried to picture a teenage Anne running about, a troubled girl chased by a stumbling mother, a grief-stricken Anne receiving news of her brother’s death.

“It was a year after Sam died that she met that woman Mariana,” Aunt Anne cut into her thoughts, her voice betraying her clear contempt for Anne’s ex.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Aunt drawled. “What an awful woman. I always disliked her.”

“Did you?” Ann laughed.

“Heavens, yes! She’s so vulgar. Skintight this, and lowcut that. Face and nails painted – the works. Oh, she was awful.”

“I’m surprised Anne went for someone like that,” Ann said thoughtfully.

“Our Anne has terrible taste,” Aunt laughed, “present company excluded. The parade of women she has brought to Shibden for a weekend, only to never mention them again – it boggles the mind.”

“Good Lord,” Ann laughed.

“She’s been a mess for most of her life, Little Ann, but I’ve never seen her as happy as she is with you.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Anne tells you a lot,” Ann ventured. They were getting closer to the house, and she had one more question. “What did she tell you about me? In the beginning, I mean.”

“Well, she told me how sweet you are. How kind and generous and funny. She told me this long story about some drawing you did of her. I couldn’t really understand it, to be honest, but she was so tickled with it. She kept saying ‘Aunt, it’s like I’ve known her my entire life. I can’t believe it. She’s just perfect.’”

Ann grinned, shaking her head. Anne Lister was so incredibly soft. 

“Thank you, Little Ann,” Aunt said with a smile, “for taking an old lady for a twirl around the grounds.”

“I enjoyed it! Thank you, really, I –”

“Let’s do it again, soon, hmm?”

Ann nodded and watched Aunt Anne disappear into the living room. Ann trotted upstairs to see Anne, but her office door was closed. Ann could hear her deep voice through the door, and she tried not to feel too disappointed that she was still working. She reminded herself it was a weekday. She took her sketchpad to their room, sketching the view from the wide windows for the rest of the morning. Anne slipped into the room about noon, planting a quick kiss to the top of her head before retrieving her journal. They worked silently for a while, until Ann was pleased with her sketch. She closed her pad and crawled into bed next to Anne, watching her scribble away. 

“Why do you write parts in code?” 

“Some parts are private,” Anne playfully turned her journal away from Ann’s view. 

“Like what?”

“Like the things I think about my coworkers, or the money I spend, or the things we do.” Anne flipped her journal shut, stashing it back in her nightstand drawer. 

“The things we do?” Ann’s voice had a saucy edge.

“I should hate for just anyone to find my journal and read all the naughty things Ann Walker says to me when we’re in bed.”

“The things I say?” Ann cried, caught between laughter and outrage.

“Things like ‘yes, Pony, harder,’” Anne husked, daring Ann with her eyes. 

“How about you, Dr. Lister? ‘I love you, Adney,’” Ann dropped her voice to an exaggerated baritone, “‘I love fucking you.’”

“I do love fucking you,” Anne shifted closer, her face just centimeters from Ann’s.

“‘Right there, Adney, yes.’”

“I do not sound like that,” Anne caught Ann’s bottom lip between her teeth.

Ann waggled her eyebrows, then giggled with joy as Anne crashed their lips together. Anne had just swung her leg over Ann’s lap when a sharp knock sounded at the door. 

“Big Anne, are you in there?” Marian called. 

“Yes,” Anne groaned, heaving herself upright and padding to the door. “What is it?”

“I’ve just placed a grocery order, but they can’t bring it delivery. I thought you could go pick it up.”

“Why do I have to pick it up?” Anne was petulant. Ann rolled her eyes and came to stand next to her. 

“We’ll go get it, Marian,” Ann said sweetly, wrapping an arm around Anne’s waist. “When will it be ready?”

“About an hour. Thanks.” Marian smiled at Ann and turned down the hallway. 

Anne clicked her tongue, pouting. 

“I thought we might have a bit more time up here,” she said, pulling Ann closer.

“I don’t know why people say you’re clever,” Ann said contemplatively, tucking an errant hair behind Anne’s ear. “If we go pick up the shopping, we can ride around in the car for a while. I don’t know about you, Dr. Lister, but I rather enjoyed our last car ride.”

“Oh, Ann,” Anne grinned hugely, “you are so bloody brilliant. Let’s go.” 

Anne drove one of those soft-top Jeeps, dark green with a black cover; Ann guessed it was from the late ‘90s, based on the model and Anne having said it was her brother’s. The exterior was meticulously cared for, but the interior was littered with ceramic coffee mugs, gum wrappers, and crumpled receipts. Ann hoisted herself into the passenger seat, tilting her head in question to the driver. 

“What?” Anne started the car.

“Why don’t you bring your coffee cups in? Or get a traveler’s mug?” Ann gestured to the mugs at her feet, all with dried, brown stains and chips from knocking against each other. 

“I just forget,” Anne shrugged. “I have a million of these. You should see my office at school – they’re everywhere. I try to bring them home at the end of the semester, and it makes Cordingley insane. It’s nearly sixty mugs at once, and there’s no room for them in the cupboards.”

“Why don’t you get rid of them?”

“Every mug has deep, personal significance to me,” Anne said haughtily as she turned out of Shibden. Ann nudged her playfully.

“Is this a stick-shift?”

Anne nodded, her fingers drumming the gear shift between them. Ann watched her shift, hand and legs moving in perfect synchronization as they rattled down the deserted road. Ann licked her lips; they really should go on drives more often.

“Stop drooling, Adney.” 

Ann, flushed, fiddled with the radio, not finding anything she liked. She hit the CD button. A steady drum beat filled the car. Anne reached over and turned it down immediately. 

“That’s – um, not a great CD.”

“What?” Ann furrowed her brows, watching Anne’s hand tense over the gear shift.

“It’s a long story, but – it’s just the one song.”

“What?” Ann laughed. “Tell me the story.”

“Well,” Anne sighed, “so I teach a senior seminar every year, right? In the spring, and I usually only get half a dozen students. Partly because it’s Classics and we’re a small department, and partly because I’m such a difficult teacher.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Anne laughed and shook her head. “ A lot of kids absolutely hate me, but some really like me. Sort of an acquired taste, your wife.”

“I have heard that,” Ann reached over to run her fingers along the back of Anne’s neck, enjoying her tiny shiver. 

“Anyway, at the end, once they’ve taken their exams and everything, I host a big party. I call it the Bacchanal, which was a Roman feast where everyone would get drunk and act like a fool. They had them in Greece too, same kind of idea. There’s this Greek play, where the king is trying to outlaw these – it doesn’t matter.” Ann laughed at Anne redirecting herself. “Anyway, I rent the back room at a bar, and we have a big celebration that they’ve survived.”

“Okay,” Ann didn’t see the connection to the song. 

“So in my senior seminar last year - five students by the way - one of them was playing this song out loud before class. I was getting something ready, and I kind of bobbed my head. It’s catchy. They thought it was so funny, so we made a bet. If they all passed the final with a certain score, I would,” Anne paused, “I would lipsync this song at the Bacchanal.”

“Really?” Ann laughed, tugging at Anne’s hair. 

“Yes.”

“So did you?”

“I had to have one of them make me a CD of the song, so I could listen to it while I drove to work. So I could learn it.”

“Sing it for me.”

“What?” Anne laughed. “No.”

“Come on,” Ann turned up the music. It really was quite catchy. “Pony, do it. Come on.”

Anne glanced at her, then back at the road. She sighed and shook her head. 

“ _I been through like a hundred cities_ ,” Anne’s low voice mixed with the man rapping through the speakers, “ _signed a thousand titties, I’m talkin’ millions of bitties.  
I’m a dog, I chase that kitty.  
If your girlfriend is pretty,  
chances are I’m tryin’ to snatch so I can slay and take her with me.”_

“You sang this to your students?” Ann cried. Anne grinned and kept going.

_“Bro, I’m the man, did you not know that?  
Your girl want me to take a picture with her on that Kodak,  
and you’re so whack, she knows that  
I be where the coke and smoke at.  
See her friend and I am going for that three like I’m Steve Novak.”_

Anne formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, wiggling the other fingers in the air at Ann, who laughed and squeezed her shoulder. Anne was starting to enjoy it, and Ann felt intoxicated. She couldn’t understand every word, but, God, Anne was hot like this. Swaggering and singing, her left hand draped over the steering wheel, her right shifting gears as they moved through the streets of Halifax. All of a sudden Anne was twisting her hips in her seat, still singing. Ann’s mouth went dry. 

_“’Cause Imma probably take her somewhere soon to bone.”_ Anne thrust her hips forward on the last word, then grinned and turned the sound down. She glanced at Ann, laughed, shook her head. “It’s silly isn’t it? There’s a chorus and another verse, but I’m sure you’ve seen enough.

“I don’t think I have,” Ann breathed. “Do the next verse.”

“Ann, come on,” she laughed, “we’re almost there.”

“Finish the song, Pony.”

Anne glanced at her, eyes running down her body, then shrugged. She turned the song back up as she turned onto a narrow road. The grocery store was up ahead. Ann watched her, singing, head bobbing, hands gesturing wildly with the lyrics. She could barely follow along, could barely keep herself from climbing into Anne's lap this very second. 

_“So I swoop in and tell ‘em, if her parents don’t approve of me,  
That don’t change a goddman thing, girl, I don’t buy no jewelry.”_

Ann sputtered a laugh and held up her left hand. Anne grabbed it, mumbling the next few lines into her knuckles, teeth nipping at the skin around her ring. Anne pulled into a parking spot at the back of the lot, far from the other cars, and parked. Her deep voice mixed with the chorus, as she slid her seat backwards and winked. 

_“Got my leather jacket, thriller,  
There sure ain’t nothin’ iller,  
Man, I’m a lady killer, if I want her Imma steal her.” _

That was it. The final straw for Ann Walker. Anne was already giving her bedroom eyes, spreading her legs and toying with her fingers. Ann clambered into her lap, bracketing Anne’s thighs with her knees, catching her lips in a bruising kiss. Anne’s hands gripped her hips, starting a gentle grinding rhythm, but Ann was too impatient for that. She unbuttoned her own shorts, grabbed Anne’s hand, and shoved it between her legs. Anne chuckled against her lips, then turned her head to kiss and nip at the juncture of Ann’s jaw and neck. 

“Don’t tease,” Ann breathed, eyes slipping closed. 

She tried to lift herself up, but it was cramped in the driver’s seat like this. Instead, she bent her neck to rest her forehead on Anne’s shoulder; the steering wheel dug into her back. Anne stroked her clit, gently at first, then with increasing pressure. Anne crooned softly in her ear, the song still faintly playing from the speakers. Ann caught her rhythm, her hips moving in time with Anne’s firm, slow strokes. Ann tumbled over the edge effortlessly, gasping as her release washed over her. Anne kissed behind her ear and gently pulled her hand away.

By the time Ann opened her eyes, Anne was lifting her over her shoulder and into the backseat. Ann laughed and flopped onto the wide bench, bending her legs to fit. Anne vaulted onto her, settling one knee between her legs, and catching her lips again. 

“How long do we have?” Ann broke away. 

“Fifteen minutes,” Anne husked, pressing her knee firmly against Ann’s center. 

Ann gasped at the contact, slipping one hand between their bodies to undo Anne’s jeans, the other tangling in her hair. Anne’s eyes slid closed as Ann dipped into her boxers, moaning low in her throat at the first swipe to her clit. Ann studied her face as she stroked her higher – the creases around her eyes, the wisps of hair escaping her ponytail, the white teeth pressing into her bottom lip. She was grateful for the cave-like atmosphere of the backseat, the dark vinyl shielding them from the afternoon sun and prying eyes. 

“That’s it, Pony,” Ann whispered. “Are you going to let me fuck you in the backseat of your car? I think you are. I think you’re going to come all over my hand in a grocery store parking lot.”

Anne shattered, collapsing on top of Ann with a shudder. The angle pinched Ann’s wrist, pinning her in place, but she didn’t mind. Ann stroked her free hand along Anne’s temple, smoothing back the short, sweat-slick hairs. Anne lifted herself to her elbows, catching her breath and shaking her head. She sat back on her heels, the crown of her head brushing the roof. 

“Where did you learn to talk like that?”

“What?” Ann smiled, rezipping and rebuttoning Anne’s jeans.

“You have the filthiest mouth, my love,” Anne bent to peck her lips. “Not that I’m complaining, but …” Anne trailed off, shaking her head. 

“We’d better go, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Anne nodded, climbing inelegantly back into the driver’s seat.

Ann followed her, and they pulled to the pickup lane in front of the store. A very polite young man loaded their groceries into the very back, and Ann felt a bit odd not interacting with him. Soon enough, they were back on the road to Shibden, pulling back into the drive, and stepping out into the late afternoon. Marian met them in the gravel, helping them carry the bags in, then wiping down each package, every surface they touched, even Anne’s keys, with disinfectant. Anne rolled her eyes, but she didn’t protest. They couldn’t take any chances with Aunt Anne and Captain Lister in the house. 

Anne disappeared into her study for a few hours, and Ann spent the afternoon propped on the couch with Marian. Marian really was quite good company, and Ann was glad they hadn’t fallen out over last night’s comments. Ann padded to the kitchen in the late afternoon looking for something to drink. As she stood in front of the refrigerator, warm arms wrapped around her waist. 

“Fancy helping me with dinner?” Anne purred in her ear. “You helped Marian this morning, and you’re not even going to marry her.”

Ann laughed, patting Anne’s arm. 

“Of course.”

Anne kissed her cheek and released her, nudging her to the side to pull out ingredient after ingredient, piling them in Ann’s arms: milk, cheese, butter, chicken breast, broth, lettuce, carrots, kale, tomatoes. Ann waddled carefully to the counter to avoid dropping anything, while Anne started piling even more food from the cupboard.

“What are we making?” Ann started to feel out of her depth.

“Fettuccine alfredo, how does that sound?”

“Great.”

“Don’t be nervous, Adney,” Anne grinned, draping a faded black apron over her shoulders. She looped it around her back, then tied it in the front. She slipped another apron from the hook. Ann dipped her head as Anne dropped it over her shoulders, tying it around her waist. She kissed Ann softly on the lips, then nodded at the apron. “Just following the directions.” 

Ann looked down at her apron – “Kiss The Cook.” She laughed and rolled her eyes, pulling her hair into a messy bun. Anne was laying out and sorting ingredients into sections. She gestured to the package of chicken breast. 

“Think you can handle cutting this – carefully?” Anne emphasized as if Ann had a known knife problem. Anne laughed and nudged her. “Bite-sized pieces, hmmm?”

Ann nodded and set about her work. She watched Anne putter around the kitchen, putting a large pot of water on the stove, rummaging through the cabinets for frying pans. Anne was doing something on her cutting board, bent over, hands moving quickly and precisely. Her neck was so long from this angle, her fingers so nimble, her jawline so sharp. Ann couldn’t stop watching her. Which is probably why she cut her finger. 

“Oh, shit,” Ann hissed, sucking at the reddening slice on her index finger. 

“What?” Anne was next to her, taking her hand from her mouth gently and examining it. “Shall we amputate?”

“Anne,” she whined.

“Here we are,” Anne led her to the sink, running cool water and pulling Ann’s finger into it. She reached into the cabinet over the sink and retrieved a bandage. She wrapped it gently around Ann’s cut, then brought it to her lips. She kissed Ann’s finger softly, her eyes smoldering. Ann found she couldn’t breathe.

“All better,” she whispered with a small smile, then returned to her own station. Her voice went back to teasing, “I did tell you to be careful, Adney.”

“You distracted me,” Ann pouted, finishing the last of the chicken. “What do I do with this?”

“Wash your hands,” Anne directed. “Then, you can help me with this sauce.”

Ann watched as Anne combined the milk, garlic, water, broth, and cheese in a pan. The pot of pasta bubbled nearby. Anne lit the gas under the remaining frying pan.

“Bring me your chicken, baby,” Anne said softly. 

Ann presented her neatly-cut pieces like a proud child. Anne grinned as she drizzled olive oil into the pan, then laid each piece out carefully.

“Excellent work, Miss Walker.” 

Ann wrapped her arm around Anne’s waist, leaning her head against her as she stirred and flipped and mixed. That first concoction actually was turning into sauce; Ann felt borderline amazed by the transformation. She had thought making sauce from scratch would be much more difficult. Anne made it look so easy. Not to mention the kitchen smelled incredible. Ann pressed her lips to Anne’s shoulder. 

“You’re so good at everything,” she said into Anne’s shirt. “I’m so impressed with you.”

“Good,” Anne said crisply, pulling away to fiddle with the greens. “That’s the only reason I do anything. To show off for you.”

Ann laughed and watched Anne whip together a salad. She pulled a cylindrical package from the freezer and preheated the oven. 

“Shit, I forgot this,” Anne muttered. “Don’t tell anyone I use frozen garlic bread.”

Miraculously, everything finished at roughly the same time. Ann figured she should have expected this, what with Anne’s compulsive timekeeping. She helped Anne set the table, and soon their family had joined them. Ann smiled at this thought – the Listers being her family. 

“They’re making me the department head next year,” Anne said near the end of the meal, settling back in her chair and fiddling with her glass. 

“That’s amazing!” Ann exclaimed, squeezing Anne’s hand.

The rest of the Listers murmured their congratulations, and Anne positively glowed under the praise. Ann loved to see her like this – proud and excited. She couldn’t help feeling a twinge that Anne hadn’t told her privately, but she suppressed it. It was normal, wasn’t it? For Anne to tell them all at once. Perfectly normal. 

“Be an awful lot more work, won’t it?” Marian smirked.

“Yes, Marian, thank you,” Anne said dryly as she stood and started to clear the table. “I can always trust you to keep me grounded.”

The family broke apart, and Ann followed Anne into the kitchen. They worked in tandem clearing the table, storing the leftovers, and loading the dishwasher. Once they finished, Ann studied her fiancée as she leaned against the counter. Anne quirked an eyebrow and held out her hand. Ann took it and let herself be pulled into Anne’s firm body.

“I’m very proud of you, Pony,” she said softly. 

“Thank you,” Anne dipped her head to kiss her softly. 

“Do you want to take a walk?” Ann traced her finger over the hollow of Anne’s throat. 

“Yeah?” Anne’s eyes danced, and her hands tightened around Ann’s hips. 

“A department head deserves a reward.” Ann was growing warm already. 

“Anne! It’s on!” Marian’s voice called from the other room.

“What?” Anne called back, scowling. She shook her head at Ann, making her giggle. 

“Baby Jane! It just started!” Came the response.

Anne’s jaw fell open, and she twisted out of Ann’s arms, tugging her toward the living room. Aunt Anne was hobbling out of the room; Captain Lister and Marian were glued to the black and white movie on the television. Anne fell into Aunt Anne’s plush recliner, pulling Ann in next to her. Ann giggled, blushing lightly at sitting in Anne’s lap in front of others. 

“Have you seen this before?” Anne whispered to her, still focused on the screen.

“No, what is it?”

“Whatever Happened to Baby Jane!” Anne squeezed her hip. “Aunt hates it, but it’s amazing. You’ll love it.”

Ann spent the next two hours enjoying cuddling up to Anne’s warm body and… tolerating the movie on the screen. She wasn’t much of a fan of old movies. The Listers were transfixed, reciting lines in perfect sync with the actors. It was sort of incredible to watch, even as the prospect of her romantic evening faded. By the time the credits rolled, Ann had nodded off into Anne’s chest.

“Wake up, Adney,” Anne whispered in her ear. “Time for bed.”

Ann roused herself, slipping out of Anne’s lap and stretching. The rest of the family had disappeared, and the house was dark. Anne took her hand and stood. She pulled Ann flush to her, kissing her fiercely. Ann draped her arms around Anne’s neck and melted into her strong form. 

“Spending all evening with you in my lap was a tremendous tease,” Anne husked as they climbed the stairs. 

“Did it to yourself,” Ann murmured, leading Anne into their bedroom. “I wanted to go out to that little hut and have my way with you.” 

Ann went into the bathroom, going through her evening routine. Anne appeared in the mirror next to her, brows furrowed. 

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Ann said simply, still trying to pinpoint what she was actually annoyed about. 

“You’re upset.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re cross.”

“Yes,” Ann sighed. “I think I am.”

“What’s happened?” Anne bent her knees and turned Ann around by the hips, searching her face. Ann put her hands on Anne’s shoulders and sighed. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about being department head sooner?”

“What?” 

“We spent a lot of time together today. You could’ve told me in the car.”

“I – Ann,” Anne’s shoulders slumped, “I didn’t think about. Really. Every time I’m around you, I get so… God, I get so distracted. There was the singing and the – the backseat. I forgot.”  
Ann considered her sincerity and judged it adequate. She smiled softly.

“Okay, I understand. Next time, though,” she adopted a serious tone, “I think you should tell your wife first.”

“Of course,” Anne nodded eagerly. “I’m sorry.”

“Make it up to me,” Ann ran her fingers into the hair at the nape of Anne’s neck. 

Anne hoisted her into her arms, and Ann wrapped her legs around her waist, peppering kisses along Anne’s jawline. Anne eased them gently onto the bed, catching Ann’s lips again and grinding their hips together. Anne broke away, starting her slow descent down Ann’s body. Ann relaxed into the familiarity of their lovemaking, the habitual pattern of Anne’s touch. Anne undressed her slowly, dragging her tongue across Ann’s breasts, stomach, inner thighs. She settled on her belly between Ann’s legs, and Ann tangled her fingers in Anne’s hair, moaning softly as that dexterous tongue teased her clit. Ann’s release built slowly. It was good – it wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was good. Ann swirled hips, humming softly. Anne squeezed her hips and looked up at her. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Anne asked, her worried eyes searching Ann’s flushed face. 

“What?” Ann exhaled. 

“You are usually more involved than this.” Anne nipped her hipbone. “Talkative.” She kissed each, individual rib. “Demanding.” She caught Ann’s lips.

Ann hummed at the taste of her own arousal on Anne’s lips, the rough friction of Anne’s clothed body against her bare flesh, the firm press of her pelvis. Anne pulled away and quirked an eyebrow.

“Is it not good?”

“Not good?” Ann laughed. “It’s always good, Pony.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ann ran the back of her hand along Anne’s cheek. “Just –” Ann wasn’t sure if she should say this.

“Just what?” Anne’s eyes widened. She sat back on her heels, running her hands absentmindedly along Ann’s bare legs. Ann almost laughed at the very real fear coloring her face. 

“We’ve shagged rather a lot today, haven’t we?” Ann propped herself on her elbows. 

“Yes,” Anne nodded. “Are you – are you uncomfortable? Sore? Your back, is it –”

“No, Pony,” Ann soothed, “nothing like that. It’s just – it’s very familiar, isn’t it? Comfortable.”

“What?” Anne’s face fell.

“I think it’s nice!” Ann said quickly. “I love that when we – do this, you know, it’s – it’s nice that we have a little routine.”

“Routine?” Anne’s nose crinkled as if she smelled something rotten.

“We do the same things.”

“No, we don’t.”

“We do,” Ann ran her hand down Anne’s arm to interlace their fingers. “We start like this. Which you’re very good at. And then you’ll come up here, and kiss me, and I’ll – you know, touch you. And then, we’ll go to sleep. It’s nice.”

“Nice?” Anne tightened her grip around Ann’s thighs. “Nice?”

“It is nice,” Ann protested. 

“I’ll show you nice,” Anne leaned forward to catch Ann in a searing kiss. 

Anne thrust her tongue into Ann’s mouth, kissing her deeply, fiercely, desperately. Ann whimpered into her mouth, tightening her grip on Anne’s hair. Anne broke away, scrambling to kneel beside the bed and yanking Ann to the edge. Ann’s surprised giggle turned into a low moan when Anne dipped her head between her legs again. 

“Oh, fuck,” Ann breathed, writhing and gripping the bedsheets. “God, Pony, fuck.”

Anne was on a mission. Her lips, tongue, and teeth worked in perfect harmony – teasing Ann to the brink. Ann’s hands shot down to Anne’s head, attempting to hold her in place. Once Ann was on the edge, Anne neglected her clit entirely. She lifted her hips in desperation, but then Anne’s mouth was gone.

“Anne?” She breathed. 

“Nice,” Anne growled, straightening. She made her way up Ann’s body, nipping the round curve of her belly, her breasts, her neck. “How’s that for nice?”

Anne thrust two fingers into Ann without warning, starting a punishing rhythm. Ann clutched her back, digging her fingernails into her skin. Anne ran her tongue along Ann’s jaw, behind her ear. Ann whimpered helplessly as Anne stretched her with a third, her release threatening to bowl her over. Anne finally pressed her thumb to Ann’s clit, sending Ann hurtling over the edge. Ann cried out weakly, unable to stop herself. Anne’s hand clamped over her mouth, the other still pumping furiously between her legs. The pressure of Anne’s palm on her lips, the weight of her body pressing into Ann, the unrelenting thrust of her fingers, the merciless flicking of her thumb – it was too much. Ann felt herself coming undone again. She shuddered for what felt like an eternity, finally stilling with a choked sigh. Anne pulled away, that smug look on her face. It would’ve been infuriating if it wasn’t so hot. 

“How was that, my love?” Anne purred, shucking her jeans. “Nice?”

“Good Lord,” Ann panted to the ceiling. 

“Is that a yes?” Anne unbuttoned her shirt. 

“Come here,” Ann breathed, scrambling up to the pillows.

Anne threw off her bra, crawling into bed and catching Ann’s lips. Ann had thought she was spent, but the press of their naked bodies revitalized her. Her hands traced along Anne’s strong back, reveling in the feeling of her muscles shifting under her skin. Anne’s lips were insistent, her hands roaming, her hips demanding. Her hand ran under Ann’s knee, bending it to intertwine their legs. Anne lowered herself gently, pressing their cores together. Ann whined at the connection of their slick bodies, the brush of Anne’s skin against her straining nipples, the low growl caught in Anne’s throat. 

“A routine,” Anne nipped at her earlobe. “Familiar,” Anne snaked her hand to Ann’s still-sensitive clit. “Comfortable,” Anne pressed her hips more firmly. 

Ann bit back her moan, warmth already spreading from her center. Having just climbed back up from the relentless waves of pleasure, she found herself careening helplessly toward them again. Anne’s fingers pressed more firmly to her clit, slipping through their mingled arousal, until Ann seized again, mumbling incoherently as her release washed over her. Anne disentangled their legs hurriedly, straddling Ann’s thigh and rutting her hips. The slick slide of Anne’s core against her skin, the frantic panting in her ear, the rough press of her hand to Ann’s breast – it was erotic, primal, beautiful. Ann watched Anne taking her pleasure, eyes screwed closed in concentration as she moved desperately over her. 

“God, Pony, you’re close, aren’t you?” Anne nodded, her hips moving faster. “You’re so wet. Fuck, you’re so wet, Pony.” Ann flexed her thigh, pushing up against Anne’s core. “Make yourself come. Make yourself come so I can lick you clean.”

Anne gasped, shuddering and collapsing on top of her. Ann stroked her back as she trembled, until, finally, her hips slowed and she rolled to the side. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ann swung her leg over Anne’s lap, kissing her fiercely before making her way down her body. Anne’s chest was still heaving as Ann nipped at her ribs and ran her tongue along the firm lines of her abdominals; her fingers tangled in Ann’s hair at the first swipe of her tongue along her inner thigh. Ann started slowly, lapping at the arousal spread across her center. By the time Ann reached her clit, Anne’s needy hips were thrusting into the air.

“Adney,” she panted, “I have to tell you. That pink hair between my legs, it’s – Jesus Christ, it’s –”

Ann grinned, effectively cutting Anne off by taking her clit between her lips. Anne’s hips lifted desperately, but Ann steadied her with a gentle press of her hand. Ann teased her slowly, sucking and stroking her to the precipice. Anne’s thighs clamped around her ears as Ann lapped every drop of her release from her. It was perfect, this moment; Ann was effectively trapped between Anne’s strong thighs, the whole world muffled and distant, insignificant compared to the delectable woman surrounding her. Finally, Anne’s hands released her head, her legs falling to the sheets. Ann wiped her mouth and crawled up to nestle in the crook of Anne’s arm. Her skin was slick and sweaty, but Ann relished the feeling of it pressed against her own. For several long moments, she studied Anne’s flushed profile, the tendon standing out in the long column of her neck, the heave of the breasts she was so self-conscious about. Ann pressed a kiss to her cheek and rolled out of bed to retrieve their pajamas. 

“Are you alright?” Ann asked cheekily, tossing Anne her sweats. 

“God, Adney, I –” Anne laughed breathlessly. “You know Aunt thinks you might be too young for me. That I can’t keep up. And most of the time I disagree. I’m active, and I’m in shape, and – but, Jesus, Ann. I don’t know if I can keep up. When you’re like that.”

“Anne,” she said, pulling her t-shirt over her head. “Are you nuts?”

“What?” Anne was still panting.

“Have you forgotten fucking me into the mattress just a minute ago? You were wild, my love. I came three times tonight. You know that makes five times total today, technically.” Ann knelt next to Anne’s nude form. “I should worry about keeping up with you.”

A grin spread across Anne’s face slowly as she absorbed Ann’s words. Ann flopped onto her back and slid under the covers. Anne could be so insecure in the strangest ways, she mused. Luckily, it was easy enough to rein her back in. Ann turned on her side to watch Anne shuffle into her nightclothes. 

“You’re right, of course, darling,” Anne had all her bravado back. “We’re extremely well-matched, hmm?” 

Ann smiled and nodded, rolling her eyes internally at how easy Anne was to flatter. Anne slid into bed next to her, reaching for her glasses and book. Ann nuzzled into her chest, slipping one leg between Anne’s and an arm around her middle. Anne’s glasses were low on her nose, which made Ann’s mouth run dry; she took a deep breath, steadying herself. Anne flicked open the book and wrapped her free hand around Ann’s back. Ann drifted to sleep to the low melody of Anne’s voice, the warm press of her body, and the comforting sensation of being loved so deeply, so thoroughly, so constantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know that was a long one. 
> 
> Maybe you picked up on this from the chapter title, but I wanted to try to write the same day twice - once from either point of view. Just, like, because it could be cool. I figured it would be easier to write out the whole day from one side, then the whole day from the other. Was it too much to read? I haven't finished Anne's side, so I could absolutely chunk that more to make it manageable. 
> 
> The song is Ladykillers by G-Eazy and Hoodie Allen. It's not exactly art, but it is a bop. I'm not usually into fics that include songs, but I couldn't stop thinking about Anne singing along and getting Ann all hot and bothered. 
> 
> Ending smut roughly based on "two last night & one this morning but not very good ones - we had spoilt them a little by grubbling as we came along in the carriage." May 21, 1834. Loved the idea that they could "spoil" themselves by doin' it too much. But, hey, this is fanfiction, I'm not here to give you "not very good ones."
> 
> Anyway, what do we think? Too long? Chop it up next time? Is it interesting to see two perspectives of the same day? I'm not anticipating doing it a lot, but is it worth doing for this day? I figure we've been through a lot together (over 100,000 words between the two stories!), y'all will indulge me this experiment. Any other experiments you'd like to see?


	23. Anne's Monday

Anne slipped out of bed just after six, surprisingly energized despite the lack of sleep. She showered and dressed quickly, caught halfway between staying quiet to avoid waking Ann and knowing that her fiancée was dead to the world for at least another hour. She studied her sleeping form as she buttoned her shirt – she was so pale and slight, with that shock of pink hair spread above her head. Anne had never given much thought to hair color, and she was sure she would miss Ann’s blonde curls eventually. But for now? Good Lord. 

She brushed her lips across Ann’s forehead on her way out the door, trotting down the stairs and into the dark morning. She ordered her day in her mind – there was the department meeting, then she really should get some writing done and catch up on her journal. It wasn’t so much, she figured, especially if she stayed focused. She couldn’t afford to get behind on her research, as tempting as young Miss Walker was. Besides, she still had so much to do around the estate. The flowers she’d planted were settling in, but she still needed to pull up those hedges. It would be rather a lot of work on her own, but she didn’t want to wait.

These were the thoughts occupying her mind as she strode into the kitchen, finding Ann and Marian, thick as thieves. Based on the dirty dishes and smiles, Anne figured they had made breakfast together. Jealousy flared in her gut. Marian was saying something, but Anne didn’t care. 

“Darling!” Anne interrupted, sweeping into the room and pressing a firm kiss to Ann’s cheek. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ann grinned, sliding her hands up Anne’s chest. 

“Has my sister been putting you to work?” Anne wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist, locking her hands together at the small of her back.

“We had a good time.”

“Did she –” Anne raised her eyebrows. 

“We’re all fine now,” Ann nodded, smoothing Anne’s collar.

Anne smiled, grateful the matter was settled. They stood in silence for a beat, until Ann looked pointedly at her muddy boots. Anne rolled her eyes, but she knelt to unlace them all the same, feeling Ann’s slender fingers running through her hair in approval. Anne lifted her head and lightly bit Ann’s bare thigh. She followed the sound of Ann’s bright laughter into the dining room.

Marian and Ann had made French toast, the though of which made Anne smile. She wondered how much bread Ann burned in the process. Marian was already starting in on her about something, and Anne lost herself to the argument for most of the meal.

“What you don’t understand, Marian,” Anne held up a single finger, confident she was about to win this one, “is the hedgehogs were your responsibility. It is your fault that they escaped.”

Ann reached her hand under the table to squeeze Anne’s knee gently, then to draw light circles over her thigh. Anne bit her cheek, shifted her hips, but it was no use. Ann was tracing lightning along her leg.

“That’s a lie,” Marian shot back. “You were the one always hovering over them in the kitchen. They were your pets.”

Ann’s hand slid higher.

“They – uh,” Anne struggled to focus, hoping Ann would back off. No luck. “They were – they were – forget it. It was 30 years ago.”

Marian grinned smugly and stood, clearing the table. Anne clicked her tongue, disappointed to have lost, and in front of Ann no less. Because of Ann, in fact. 

“Not fair,” Anne hissed as the rest of the family left the room. “I don’t appreciate you drawing naughty shapes on my leg while I’m arguing with Marian.”

“I don’t appreciate you spending all of breakfast peacocking around and trying to outperform your sister, when you could be talking to me.”

Anne opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She hadn’t thought of it like that. Sparring with Marian over a meal was as natural to her as breathing. She made a mental note to focus on Ann more at the next one. Ann’s fingers inched higher – a dare. Anne shook her head and grabbed her hand.

“Not here, Miss Walker. I swear, that hair of yours has made you absolutely wild.”

“Perhaps you ought to teach me a lesson.”

Anne’s body thrummed with desire, a dozen filthy images flooding her brain. She was just about to suggest they go to the chaumière when Aunt Anne approached. Ann stiffened and withdrew her hand. 

“Anne, darling - Big Anne, I mean,” she laughed as both women turned to her, “would you walk an old lady through the garden this morning? My doctor says I need to get more exercise, and I’m tired of walking with Marian. Little Ann, you can come with us, of course, though I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“I wish I could, Aunt,” Anne said regretfully, “but I have a video call with the fellows from work this morning. Next year’s scheduling and all that.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ann offered. “If you wouldn’t mind my company.”

“I would be delighted,” Aunt Anne smiled warmly. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Anne squeezed Ann’s shoulder on her way out of the room, climbing the stairs quickly and settling behind her desk. She didn’t fully understand the video call technology, and it took her nearly fifteen minutes to set it up properly. Finally, the faces of her colleagues filled her screen: the Rawson brothers, of course, looking as slimy as ever, and Hinscliffe, his bald head shining in the morning sun streaming in the window behind him. They exchanged pleasantries, and Anne tried to work out the Rawson family tree in her head. These Rawsons were Ann’s – uncles? Cousins? Hell, they would be her family soon enough, she realized. What a nightmare.

“Lister, how’s the Hall?” Hinscliffe cut into her calculations.

“Good,” she nodded, “excellent.”

“I hear you’ve got my cousin, Ann Walker, over there,” Jeremiah offered jovially. 

“Yes,” Anne said slowly, sensing a trap but unable to avoid it. They’d surely heard it already. “We are – we are engaged, in fact.”

Her office filled with the crackling, tinny sounds of their overlapping congratulations – sincere and genuine from Jeremiah and Hinscliffe, less so from Christopher. She didn’t mind. She had once thought they were similar – cynical and bitter and alone; now she knew better. She had bested him, finally, by finding a serious companion. 

“I hope you won’t be too upset, then,” Christopher started, “when we tell you what we’ve decided.”

“What’s that?” Anne furrowed her brow.

“Well,” Jeremiah smiled excitedly, “we were thinking – since Chris is going on sabbatical and all that – that you could be department head, in the fall.”

“Really?” Anne failed to suppress her grin.

“We think you’d do a marvelous job,” Hinscliffe added.

“Keeping my seat warm for me,” Christopher sneered. 

Anne rolled her eyes and nodded.

“It is rather a lot of work,” Christopher continued. “I hope my cousin won’t mind us borrowing you.”

“I’m sure she won’t,” Anne said resolutely, catching his tiny, pixelated eye. 

The rest of the meeting passed with deadlines and practicalities and worries over how the pandemic would affect the fall semester. Anne was glad she happened to be on sabbatical this semester and didn’t have to hobble through online finals. Marian texted her – Whatever Happened to Baby Jane would be on television tonight. Anne smiled into her phone and wondered if Ann had seen it. The meeting broke up around noon, and Anne went in search of Ann to tell her the news. 

Ann was in their bedroom, propped in the window, sketching. Anne figured her news could wait until Ann was finished, so she settled for a quick kiss to the top of her head before retrieving her journal. She stretched out in bed, and they worked silently for a while. Eventually, Ann crawled into bed next to her, peering over her shoulder.

“Why do you write parts in code?”

“Some parts are private,” Anne playfully turned her journal away from Ann’s view.

“Like what?” Ann pressed.

“Like the things I think about my coworkers, or the money I spend, or the things we do.” Anne flipped her journal shut, stashing it back in her drawer.

“The things we do?” Ann’s voice had a saucy edge.

“I should hate for just anyone to find my journal and read all the naughty things Ann Walker says to me when we’re in bed.” Anne teased, her body already warming with desire. 

“The things I say?” Ann cried.

“Things like ‘yes, Pony, harder,’” Anne husked, daring Ann with her eyes.

“How about you, Dr. Lister? ‘I love you, Adney,’” Ann dropped her voice to an exaggerated baritone, “‘I love fucking you.’”

“I do love fucking you,” Anne shifted closer, her face just centimeters from Ann’s.

“‘Right there, Adney, yes.’”

“I do not sound like that,” Anne caught Ann’s bottom lip between her teeth.

Ann gave her that look – God, that look, and Anne couldn’t wait. She leaned forward, kissing Ann fiercely, moving to straddle her. There was a knock at the door; she dropped her head with a huff of disappointment.

“Big Anne, are you in there?” Marian’s irritating voice called.

“Yes,” Anne groaned, heaving herself upright and padding to the door. “What is it?”

“I’ve just placed a grocery order, but they can’t bring it delivery. I thought you could go pick it up.”

“Why do I have to pick it up?” Anne still had that breathless, loose feeling in her gut. She wanted to crawl back in bed, screw Ann senseless, then brag about her promotion. Marian was always ruining her fun.

“We’ll go get it, Marian,” Ann said sweetly, wrapping an arm around Anne’s waist. “When will it be ready?”

“About an hour. Thanks.” Marian smiled at Ann and turned down the hallway.

Anne clicked her tongue in disappointment

“I thought we might have a bit more time up here,” she said, pulling Ann closer.

“I don’t know why people say you’re clever,” Ann said contemplatively, tucking an errant hair behind Anne’s ear. “If we go pick up the shopping, we can ride around in the car for a while. I don’t know about you, Dr. Lister, but I rather enjoyed our last car ride.”

“Oh, Ann,” Anne grinned hugely, “you are so bloody brilliant. Let’s go.”

Anne led Ann downstairs, grabbing her keys from the bowl, and heading for her Jeep. She loved Ann’s car, but if they were going to do something naughty in a parking lot, the Jeep was better suited. More private. The fact that they hadn’t christened this vehicle was only a minor factor. Ann hoisted herself into the passenger seat, tilting her head in question to the driver.

“What?” Anne started the car.

“Why don’t you bring your coffee cups in? Or get a traveler’s mug?” Ann gestured to the mugs at her feet.

“I just forget,” Anne rushed, embarrassed by the mess. “I have a million of these. You should see my office at school – they’re everywhere. I try to bring them home at the end of the semester, and it makes Cordingley insane. It’s nearly sixty mugs at once, and there’s no room for them in the cupboards.”

“Why don’t you get rid of them?”

“Every mug has deep, personal significance to me,” Anne joked as she turned out of Shibden. Ann nudged her playfully.

“Is this a stick-shift?”

Anne nodded, her fingers drumming the gear shift between them. She swerved through the streets, feeling Ann’s eyes on her, stoking that familiar flame. 

“Stop drooling, Adney.”

Ann fiddled with the radio, then hit a button. A steady, familiar drum beat filled the car. Anne reached over and turned it down immediately. 

“That’s – um, not a great CD.” Anne clutched the gear shift a little tighter. 

“What?” 

“It’s a long story, but – it’s just the one song.”

“What?” Ann laughed. “Tell me the story.”

“Well,” Anne sighed, “so I teach a senior seminar every year, right? In the spring, and I usually only get half a dozen students. Partly because it’s Classics and we’re a small department, and partly because I’m such a difficult teacher.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Anne laughed and shook her head. “A lot of kids absolutely hate me, but some really like me. Sort of an acquired taste, your wife.”

“I have heard that.” Anne shivered as Ann’s cool fingertips traced the back of her neck.

“Anyway,” Anne tried to stay focused, “at the end, once they’ve taken their exams and everything, I host a big party. I call it the Bacchanal, which was a Roman feast where everyone would get drunk and act like a fool. They had them in Greece too, same kind of idea. There’s this Greek play, where the king is trying to outlaw these – it doesn’t matter.” Anne shook her head, reminding herself to stay on track. “Anyway, I rent the back room at a bar, and we have a big celebration that they’ve survived.”

“Okay,” Ann said slowly.

“So in my senior seminar last year - five students by the way - one of them was playing this song out loud before class. I was getting something ready, and I kind of bobbed my head. It’s catchy. They thought it was so funny, so we made a bet. If they all passed the final with a certain score, I would,” Anne paused, “I would lipsync this song at the Bacchanal.”

“Really?” Ann laughed, tugging at Anne’s hair.

“Yes.” Anne could feel her face growing warmer.

“So did you?”

“I had to have one of them make me a CD of the song, so I could listen to it while I drove to work. So I could learn it.”

“Sing it for me.”

“What?” Anne laughed. “No.”

“Come on,” Ann turned up the music. “Pony, do it. Come on.”

Anne glanced at her, then back at the road. She sighed and shook her head. It was no use, was it? She couldn’t deny Ann anything. Besides, she thought as the steady beat filled the car, it was pretty catchy. 

_“I been through like a hundred cities,”_ Anne started lowly, trying to project more confidence than she felt, _“signed a thousand titties, I’m talkin’ millions of bitties.  
I’m a dog, I chase that kitty.  
If your girlfriend is pretty,  
chances are I’m tryin’ to snatch so I can slay and take her with me.”_

“You sang this to your students?” Ann cried. 

_“Bro, I’m the man, did you not know that?"_ Anne continued by way of response.  
 _Your girl want me to take a picture with her on that Kodak,  
and you’re so whack, she knows that  
I be where the coke and smoke at.  
See her friend and I am going for that three like I’m Steve Novak.” _

Anne formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, wiggling the other fingers in the air at Ann, who laughed and squeezed her shoulder. Anne leaned into it, seeing the effect she was having out of the corner of her eye. She tried not to think about last year’s Bacchanal, the faceless girl she’d pushed into a bathroom stall after her students left, the unimaginative and unsatisfying sex she and Mariana had once she’d stumbled to her front door in the wee hours. Instead she focused on the swaggering, arrogant confidence of the lyrics, shooting looks at her flushed fiancée as they zipped through the empty streets.

 _“’Cause Imma probably take her somewhere soon to bone.”_ Anne thrust her hips forward on the last word, then grinned and turned the sound down. She glanced at Ann, laughed, shook her head. “It’s silly isn’t it? There’s a chorus and another verse, but I’m sure you’ve seen enough.”

“I don’t think I have,” Ann breathed. “Do the next verse.”

“Ann, come on,” she laughed, “we’re almost there.”

“Finish the song, Pony.”

Anne glanced at her, eyes running down her body. Watching her sing along to a vulgar, rather sexist song had just about done the job for Ann, she noted with a hint of pride. She turned the song back up as she turned onto the narrow road leading to the store. The words flowed out of her easily now, though they felt more performative and hollow than they had last spring. Back then, she found solace in the carefree lyrics, had thought of herself as a lady killer – ostentatious, callous, self-important, leaving a string of satisfied women in her wake, never forming any strong attachments, and convincing herself she didn’t mind.

_“So I swoop in and tell ‘em, if her parents don’t approve of me,  
That don’t change a goddman thing, girl, I don’t buy no jewelry.” _

Ann sputtered a laugh, the light glancing off the onyx and diamonds. Anne grabbed her hand, mumbling the next few lines into her knuckles, teeth nipping at the skin around her ring. Of course, this time last year, Anne wouldn’t have dared to admit that she, of course, bought jewelry. That she would love nothing more than to have a woman to dote on, to commit to, to wear her ring. Anne pulled into a spot at the back of the lot, far from the other cars, and parked. She pushed these thoughts away, finding Ann flushed and breathless next to her. She slid her seat backwards and winked.

_“Got my leather jacket, thriller,  
There sure ain’t nothin’ iller,  
Man, I’m a lady killer, if I want her Imma steal her.”_

Suddenly, Ann was in her lap, bracketing Anne’s thighs with her knees, catching her lips in a bruising kiss. Anne’s hands gripped her hips, starting a gentle grinding rhythm, eyes scanning the parking lot for passersby. Ann apparently had no concerns about being seen, grabbing Anne’s hand and shoving it down her shorts. Anne chuckled against her lips, then turned her head to kiss and nip at the juncture of Ann’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t tease,” Ann breathed, eyes slipping closed, forehead dropping to Anne’s shoulder.

Anne stroked her clit, gently at first, then with increasing pressure. Anne crooned softly in her ear, the song still faintly playing from the speakers. Ann caught her rhythm, her hips moving in time with Anne’s firm, slow strokes, and soon she was gasping and trembling in Ann’s arms. Anne kissed behind her ear and gently pulled her hand away. She turned off that damned CD, and hoisted Ann carefully over her shoulder and into the backseat. Ann laughed and flopped onto the wide bench, bending her legs at the knee. Anne vaulted onto her, settling one knee between her legs, and catching her lips again.

“How long do we have?” Ann broke away.

“Fifteen minutes,” Anne husked, pressing her knee firmly against Ann’s center.

Ann gasped at the contact, slipping one hand between their bodies to undo Anne’s jeans, the other tangling in her hair. Anne’s eyes slid closed as Ann dipped into her boxers, moaning low in her throat at the first swipe to her clit. Anne had really intended to get Ann off at least once more, but now she couldn’t focus on anything but chasing her own release. Ann’s fingers moved in perfect rhythm; Anne’s arms shook with the effort to keep herself upright. 

“That’s it, Pony,” Ann whispered. “Are you going to let me fuck you in the backseat of your car? I think you are. I think you’re going to come all over my hand in a grocery store parking lot.”

The filthy words, Ann’s low tone, the exquisite build between her legs – Anne never stood a chance. She shattered, collapsing on top of Ann with a shudder. Eventually, she caught her breath and sat back on her heels, the crown of her head brushing the roof.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?” Anne asked, in awe.

“What?” Ann smiled, rezipping and rebuttoning Anne’s jeans. Anne thought they had a little more time to fool around, but she took this as a signal that Ann was ready to move along. 

“You have the filthiest mouth, my love,” Anne bent to peck her lips. “Not that I’m complaining, but …” Anne trailed off, shaking her head.

“We’d better go, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Anne nodded, and they climbed into the front seat, knocking heads and elbows and knees. 

They pulled to the pickup lane in front of the store. A young man loaded their groceries into the very back, and Anne steered them back on the road to Shibden. She thought about mentioning her promotion now, but Ann was toying with her fingers, chatting innocuously about the weather, teasing Anne about her rumpled shirt. She couldn’t break their happy, easy simplicity with practicalities, especially the very real possibility that Anne would be a lot busier in September. 

Marian insisted on wiping down each package, every surface they touched, even Anne’s keys, with disinfectant. Anne rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anything, understanding they couldn’t take any chances with Aunt Anne’s and Captain Lister’s health.

Anne locked herself in her office and wrote haltingly for a few hours, forcing herself to at least pretend to work on her book. She was distracted to say the least. Next fall she would have the personal and professional life she’d always wanted – but how would she juggle both? She wrote less than a thousand words and finally gave up in the late afternoon. She padded down to the kitchen, hoping to clear her head with the mundane task of cooking. She found Ann there, poised in front of the refrigerator. She was so beautiful it made Anne’s heart ache – so petite and innocent and pink-haired. Good Lord, that pink hair. She wrapped her arms around Ann’s slim waist. 

“Fancy helping me with dinner?” Anne purred in her ear. “You helped Marian this morning, and you’re not even going to marry her.”

Ann laughed, patting Anne’s arm.

“Of course.”

Anne kissed her cheek and released her, nudging her to the side to pull out ingredient after ingredient, piling everything they would need in Ann’s arms. Ann waddled carefully to the counter, while Anne started pulling out everything else from the cupboard.

“What are we making?” Ann asked, her voice betraying her nerves.

“Fettuccine alfredo, how does that sound?”

“Great.”

“Don’t be nervous, Adney,” Anne teased, tying on her apron. She slipped another apron from the hook and dropped it over Ann’s shoulders, tying it around her waist. She pressed a soft kiss to her lips, then nodded at the apron. “Just following the directions.”

Ann looked down at her apron – “Kiss The Cook.” She laughed and rolled her eyes, pulling her hair into a messy bun. Anne watched her for a beat, then shook her head – dangerous territory. She started sorting ingredients into sections. She gestured to the package of chicken breast.

“Think you can handle cutting this – carefully?” Anne emphasized playfully. “Bite-sized pieces, hmmm?”

Ann nodded and set about her work. Anne moved around the kitchen easily – boiling water, mincing garlic, slicing and dicing carrots and tomatoes. 

“Oh, shit,” Ann hissed. 

“What?” Anne moved quickly next to her. Ann was sucking on her index finger with a grimace. Anne smiled softly, taking her hand from her mouth gently and examining the small cut. “Shall we amputate?”

“Anne,” she whined.

“Here we are,” Anne led her to the sink, running cool water and pulling Ann’s finger into it. She reached into the cabinet over the sink and retrieved a bandage. She wrapped it gently around Ann’s cut, then brought it to her lips. 

“All better,” she whispered with a small smile, then returned to her pulling apart kale and lettuce. Her voice went back to teasing, “I did tell you to be careful, Adney.”

“You distracted me,” Ann pouted. “What do I do with this?”

“Wash your hands,” Anne directed. “Then, you can help me with this sauce.”

Anne combined the milk, garlic, water, broth, and cheese in a pan, stirred the pot of pasta, lit the gas under the pan for the chicken. Ann hovered nearby; Anne could feel the uncertainty radiating from her. 

“Bring me your chicken, baby,” Anne said softly.

Ann presented her neatly-cut pieces so proudly Anne’s chest hurt. She grinned as she drizzled olive oil into the pan, then dropped each piece into the sizzling oil.

“Excellent work, Miss Walker.”

Ann wrapped her arm around Anne’s waist, leaning her head against her as she stirred and flipped and mixed. Anne breathed deeply, allowing herself to enjoy this moment. She forced herself not to taint it with poor memories or comparisons from the past. This was happiness, she figured. This warm, safe bubble right here. Ann pressed her lips to Anne’s shoulder.

“You’re so good at everything,” she said into Anne’s shirt. “I’m so impressed with you.”

“Good,” Anne said, pushing down the lump in her throat. “That’s the only reason I do anything. To show off for you.”

Ann laughed, and Anne exhaled. She loved Ann, but it was difficult dealing with her emotions this much. She surveyed the kitchen, worried she was missing something. Her eyes fell to the fridge – of course. She pulled out the frozen loaf, studying the packaging and calculating how she could make it come out on time with everything else.

“Shit, I forgot this,” Anne muttered. “Don’t tell anyone I use frozen garlic bread.”

As planned, everything finished at roughly the same time. They set the table together, and Anne relaxed into the easy contentment of a quiet dinner with her family. Ordinarily a night like this had the potential to make her crazy, but with Ann by her side, it was paradise. As the meal wound down, however, she realized she still hadn’t told anyone about the promotion. Shit. She finished her wine and cleared her throat. 

“They’re making me the department head next year.”

“That’s amazing!” Ann exclaimed, squeezing Anne’s hand.

The rest of the Listers murmured their congratulations, and Anne’s shoulders sagged in relief. It was done. Everyone knew. Fine. She could work out the logistics later. Ann wasn’t upset – was she? Should she have told Ann earlier?

“Be an awful lot more work, won’t it?” Marian smirked.

“Yes, Marian, thank you,” Anne said dryly as she stood. “I can always trust you to keep me grounded.”

The rest of the family moved into the living room, and Ann helped her clearing the table, storing the leftovers, and loading the dishwasher. Once they finished, Anne looked up to find Ann staring at her. Anne quirked an eyebrow and held out her hand. Ann took it and let herself be pulled into Anne’s firm body.

“I’m very proud of you, Pony.”

“Thank you,” Anne dipped her head to kiss her softly.

“Do you want to take a walk?” Ann traced her finger over the hollow of Anne’s throat.

“Yeah?” Anne’s eyes danced, and her hands tightened around Ann’s hips.

“A department head deserves a reward.” 

Anne’s core clenched at the thought. 

“Anne! It’s on!” Marian’s voice called from the other room.

“What?” Anne called back; she shook her head sardonically, drawing a giggle from Ann.

“Baby Jane! It just started!” 

Anne’s jaw fell open, and she twisted out of Ann’s arms, tugging her toward the living room. She’d forgotten. Aunt Anne was hobbling out of the room; Captain Lister and Marian were glued to the television. It really had just started – perfect. Anne fell into Aunt Anne’s plush recliner, pulling Ann in next to her. Ann giggled, and Anne wrapped her arms around her, enjoying the feeling of holding Ann in this innocent, public way.

“Have you seen this before?” Anne whispered to her.

“No, what is it?”

“Whatever Happened to Baby Jane!” Anne squeezed her hip. “Aunt hates it, but it’s amazing. You’ll love it.”

Anne lost herself in the movie, reciting lines with her father and sister. They’d watched this hundreds of times. 

“I’ve written a letter to Daddy –” they sang, off-tune. “But ya are, Blanche, ya are in that chair,” they mimicked Bette Davis; “you mean all this time – we could have been – friends?” 

Anne shot looks at her fiancée throughout, but by the time the credits rolled, Ann had nodded off into her chest. Her father and Marian went up to bed, leaving the two of them in the dark. Anne felt her stomach roiling with desire at the firm press of Ann’s weight in her lap.

“Wake up, Adney,” Anne whispered in her ear. “Time for bed.”

Ann roused herself, slipping out of Anne’s lap and stretching. Anne took her hand and stood, pulling Ann flush to her and kissing her fiercely. Ann draped her arms around Anne’s neck and melted into her strong form.

“Spending all evening with you in my lap was a tremendous tease,” Anne husked as they climbed the stairs.

“Did it to yourself,” Ann murmured, leading Anne into their bedroom. “I wanted to go out to that little hut and have my way with you.”

Ann went into the bathroom, going through her evening routine. Anne was surprised, having assumed they would tumble into bed immediately. Now Ann was applying her face cream? Anne appeared in the mirror next to her, brows furrowed.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Ann said simply.

“You’re upset.” Anne guessed.

“Maybe.”

“You’re cross.” Anne tried again.

“Yes,” Ann sighed. “I think I am.”

“What’s happened?” Anne bent her knees and turned Ann around by the hips, searching her face. They’d had such a perfect day, in Anne’s opinion. Which part had she misjudged?

“Why didn’t you tell me about being department head sooner?” Ann ran her hands along Anne’s shoulders.

“What?”

“We spent a lot of time together today. You could’ve told me in the car.”

“I – Ann,” Anne’s shoulders slumped, “I didn’t think about it. Really. Every time I’m around you, I get so… God, I get so distracted. There was the singing and the – the backseat.” Anne tilted her head. “I forgot.”

Ann studied her for a moment, then nodded. 

“Okay, I understand. Next time, though,” she adopted a serious tone, “I think you should tell your wife first.”

“Of course,” Anne nodded eagerly, in awe, not for the first time, at Ann's capacity to forgive her so easily. “I’m sorry.”

“Make it up to me,” Ann ran her fingers into the hair at the nape of Anne’s neck.

Anne hoisted her into her arms, and Ann wrapped her legs around her waist, her soft lips trailing along Anne’s jawline. Anne eased them gently onto the bed, catching Ann’s lips again and grinding their hips together. Anne broke away, starting her slow descent down Ann’s body. How she loved doing this – tracing her lips along Ann’s skin, undressing her slowly, feeling goosebumps in her wake. It had been years since she’d had such a consistent, daily partner as Ann, and she was finding the moves that worked best for her. A little of this, a little of that, then dipping between her legs – it was almost a perfect formula to have Ann scream her name. 

Tonight, however, Ann was humming softly. Even as Anne toyed with her nipples, dragged her tongue along her belly, stroked her clit with her tongue. Humming. She might as well have been petting Argus or drawing a flower. Humming. As if Anne Lister, legendary sapphic lover and reformed lady killer, wasn’t working diligently between her legs. Humming. Something was off. Anne squeezed her hips and looked up at her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Anne asked, searching Ann’s flushed face.

“What?” Ann exhaled.

“You are usually more involved than this.” Anne nipped her hipbone. “Talkative.” She kissed each, individual rib. “Demanding.” She caught Ann’s lips.

Ann hummed into the kiss and stroked Anne’s shoulders gently. Humming – still. Not moans or gasps or cries. That would never do. Anne pulled away and quirked an eyebrow.

“Is it not good?”

“Not good?” Ann laughed. “It’s always good, Pony.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Anne narrowed her eyes. 

“Nothing,” Ann ran the back of her hand along Anne’s cheek. “Just –” Ann broke off. 

“Just what?” Anne’s eyes widened. She sat back on her heels, running her hands along Ann’s bare legs, grounding herself in the feeling of her skin, reassuring herself in the warm curve of her calves.

“We’ve shagged rather a lot today, haven’t we?” Ann propped herself on her elbows.

“Yes,” Anne nodded, trying to piece together the point. “Are you – are you uncomfortable? Sore? Your back, is it –”

“No, Pony,” Ann soothed, “nothing like that. It’s just – it’s very familiar, isn’t it? Comfortable.”

“What?” Anne’s face fell. Anne had been called many things in the bedroom; comfortable was not one of them.

“I think it’s nice!” Ann said quickly. “I love that when we – do this, you know, it’s – it’s nice that we have a little routine.”

“Routine?” Anne recoiled. 

“We do the same things.”

“No, we don’t.” Anne felt defensive, embarrassed of her formula. 

“We do,” Ann ran her hand down Anne’s arm to interlace their fingers. “We start like this. Which you’re very good at. And then you’ll come up here, and kiss me, and I’ll – you know, touch you. And then, we’ll go to sleep. It’s nice.”

“Nice?” Anne tightened her grip around Ann’s thighs. “Nice?”

“It is nice,” Ann protested.

“I’ll show you nice,” Anne leaned forward to catch Ann in a searing kiss.

Anne thrust her tongue into Ann’s mouth, kissing her deeply, fiercely, desperately. Ann whimpered into her mouth, tightening her grip on Anne’s hair. That’s more like it, Anne thought smugly. She broke away, scrambling to kneel beside the bed and yanking Ann to the edge. Ann’s surprised giggle turned into a low moan when Anne dipped her head between her legs again.

“Oh, fuck,” Ann breathed, writhing and gripping the bedsheets. “God, Pony, fuck.”

There it was. What she wanted – Ann cursing, whining, begging. Her lips, tongue, and teeth worked in perfect harmony – teasing Ann to the brink. Ann’s hands shot down to Anne’s head, attempting to hold her in place. Anne knew her too well; as soon as she felt the telltale signs of Ann’s release, she pulled away. Ann lifted her hips in desperation.

“Anne?” She breathed.

“Nice,” Anne growled, straightening. She made her way up Ann’s body, nipping the round curve of her belly, her breasts, her neck. “How’s that for nice?”

Anne thrust two fingers into Ann, starting a punishing rhythm. Ann clutched her back, digging her fingernails into her skin. It was primal and rough – as far from routine as Anne could manage. She ran her tongue along Ann’s jaw, behind her ear, slipping a third finger into Ann’s clutching depths. She grinned into Ann’s slick skin as the younger woman moaned below her. No more of this humming crap. Anne finally pressed her thumb to Ann’s clit, sending Ann hurtling over the edge. Ann cried out weakly, unable to stop herself. As much as Anne loved to hear her, she knew Marian could still be awake, so she clamped one hand over her mouth, the other still pumping furiously between her legs. Ann shuddered through her orgasm, but Anne never relented. Soon she was trembling anew, grasping at Anne’s back, hips rutting hopelessly, dragging her release out. Anne coaxed her through wave after wave, until, finally, she stilled with a choked sigh. Anne pulled away, sucking Ann’s arousal from her fingers as she stood.

“How was that, my love?” Anne purred, shucking her jeans and boxers in one movement. “Nice?”

“Good Lord,” Ann panted to the ceiling.

“Is that a yes?” Anne unbuttoned her shirt.

“Come here,” Ann breathed, scrambling up to the pillows.

Anne threw off her bra, crawling into bed and catching Ann’s lips. The press of their naked bodies was unlike anything else; Ann’s skin was so slick and warm, straining against her own. Her hands traced along Anne’s back, featherlight. Anne, by comparison, was insistent, her hands roaming, her hips demanding. Her hand ran under Ann’s knee, bending it to intertwine their legs. Anne lowered herself gently, pressing their cores together. She needed to feel this connection, the joining of their bodies, the raw, unfiltered press of their sexes.

“A routine,” Anne nipped at her earlobe. “Familiar,” Anne snaked her hand to Ann’s still-sensitive clit. “Comfortable,” Anne pressed her hips more firmly.

Anne’s fingers pressed more firmly to her clit, slipping through their mingled arousal. They were so wet, the both of them; Anne couldn’t control her rolling hips, even as they ached at the angle, the exertion. She held firm until Ann seized again, mumbling quietly as her release washed over her. Anne disentangled their legs hurriedly, her joints sighing in relief. She straddled Ann’s thigh and ground her hips. Ann was still recovering, but Anne couldn’t wait. She pressed her core into Ann’s leg, nipped at her neck, rolled her breast in her hand. Ann arched weakly into the touch, offering herself up for Anne’s taking.

“God, Pony, you’re close, aren’t you?” Ann’s breathless voice made her crazy; she nodded, her hips moving faster. “You’re so wet. Fuck, you’re so wet, Pony.” Anne gasped at the combination of those filthy words and Ann’s thigh flexing below her. “Make yourself come. Make yourself come so I can lick you clean.”

Anne gasped, collapsing on top of her. Ann stroked her back as she trembled, until, finally, her hips slowed and she rolled to the side. She panted into the ceiling, trying to think of something to say to the wanton, foul-mouthed, gorgeous woman beside her. Before she could, Ann had swung her leg over her lap, kissing her fiercely before making her way down her body. Anne’s chest was still heaving as Ann nipped at her ribs and ran her tongue along her stomach; her fingers tangled in Ann’s hair at the first swipe along her inner thigh. Ann started slowly, lapping at the arousal spread across her center. Ann’s hair fell from its bun, pink tendrils now spreading across Anne’s upper thighs, sticking up at the back. Anne couldn’t believe how hot it made her.

“Adney,” she panted, “I have to tell you. That pink hair between my legs, it’s – Jesus Christ, it’s –”

She felt Ann’s grin against her core, then she arched upward as Ann took her clit between her lips. Anne’s hips lifted desperately, but Ann steadied her with a gentle press of her hand. Anne longed to thrust into the air, to grind into Ann’s face, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Ann’s soft gesture was enough to control even her wildest urges. Ann teased her slowly, sucking and stroking her to the precipice. Anne’s thighs tensed as Ann lapped every drop of her release from her. Anne’s body stretched taut, flames licking up her body from her core, threatening to consume her. Ann pulled every drop of pleasure from her, until, finally, Anne fell back into the sheets with a sigh. Her muscles pulsed as if she’d just run a marathon. Her chest heaved, her heart raced, her skin poured sweat. Ann nuzzled into her side for a moment, then pressed a kiss to her cheek and rolled out of bed.

“Are you alright?” Ann asked cheekily, tossing Anne her sweats.

“God, Adney, I –” Anne laughed breathlessly. “You know Aunt thinks you might be too young for me. That I can’t keep up. And most of the time I disagree. I’m active, and I’m in shape, and – but, Jesus, Ann.” Anne stretched and twisted, feeling a pop in her back, knee, and wrist. “I don’t know if I can keep up. When you’re like that.”

“Anne.” Ann was standing at the edge of the bed, pulling her sleeping shirt on. Anne watched wistfully as her perfect body disappeared. “Are you nuts?”

“What?” Anne panted.

“Have you forgotten fucking me into the mattress just a minute ago?” If Anne had a drop of moisture left in her body, it would’ve rushed to her core at that phrase alone. As it was, she could only gasp a chuckle at Ann’s frankness. “You were wild, my love. I came three times tonight. You know that makes five times total today, technically.” The bed sank under Ann’s knees next to her. “I should worry about keeping up with you.”

A grin slowly spread across Anne’s face as she absorbed Ann’s words. Ann flopped onto her back and slid under the covers. Anne supposed she was right. She kept up rather well. She was in excellent shape. Ann was clearly satisfied. Perhaps she should get on a multivitamin. Start doing yoga. Something to ensure she could continue in this fashion.

“You’re right, of course, darling,” Anne felt confident again. “We’re extremely well-matched, hmm?”

Ann smiled and nodded, nuzzling into her chest, as Anne joined her under the covers. Anne reached for her glasses and book, smiling softly as Ann slipped one leg between her own and an arm around her middle. Anne flicked open the book and wrapped her free hand around Ann’s back. She read only five pages before Ann’s soft snores filled the air; Anne pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and shifted back into the pillows. She tilted her head to admire her adorable, sleeping, lightly-drooling woman. She was clearly spent. Perhaps Anne was still a bit of a lady killer after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> You all were so supportive with our little change of pace last chapter - I hope you enjoyed this one just as much. 
> 
> I am very open to suggestions if you have any - ways to change up the style, prompts, wacky situations for our ladies. I can't promise I'll do it or do it well, but I would love some new ideas. 
> 
> Thank you!!


	24. Tuesday Morning

Anne was always amazed to find the way people shift around in their sleep. From years sharing a bedroom as girls, Anne knew that Marian went from flat on her back to hugging a pillow to her chest in the course of the night. Eliza Raine curled into a tight ball. Tib stretched her long arms and legs across the entire mattress – yet another reason Anne stopped spending the night with her. Mariana slept on her side, but she hated cuddling or spooning or any physical touch while she slept; her persistent claims that it made her too warm did nothing to soften Anne’s disappointment at being rebuffed time and time again. Maria Barlow liked to sleep in Anne’s arms, but, on occasion, she would shove Anne to the floor when Maria’s daughter appeared in the doorway, complaining of a nightmare, stomachache, or strange noises in the hall. 

Ann Walker, it seemed, could not stand even an inch of space between them. If Anne was on her back, Anne was pressed into her side, arms and legs draped over the top of Anne’s body. If Anne was on her side, Ann snuggled her back into Anne’s front, pulling Anne’s arms tight around her waist and hooking her foot around Anne’s calf to bring one leg between her own. If Anne tried to move out of this position, she – well, it simply wasn’t possible. Little Ann was surprisingly strong in her sleep. Not that Anne minded. 

This morning, in particular, Ann had shifted onto her back, leaving Anne halfway on top of her, one arm hanging loosely about her waist, the other crushed under her pillow. Anne woke, slowly, to the tickle of pink hair in her nose. She rolled onto her back, flicking on the lamp and checking the time. 5:49. She huffed, not ready to start the day. She was tired – perhaps residual fatigue from the past few nights staying up too late. Not drinking enough water. The constant mental toll of living through a global pandemic. 

Still, her daily tasks cycled through her brain. The weather today was supposed to be excellent – a good day to start pulling up hedges. Then she needed to write at least ten pages, no excuses. Then there was dinner, perhaps going to bed early. She sighed in resignation; she wouldn’t be falling back asleep anytime soon. Might as well get up. 

As she heaved herself out of bed, she thought she heard a soft mew. Ann talking in her sleep, she figured, and stretched her arms high above her head, cracking her neck in the process. Another mew. Anne grinned, wondering if Ann even knew she was a sleep talker. She had just started to move across the room toward the bathroom when a thick, soft weight hit her back. She whipped around – Ann’s t-shirt lay at her feet. 

Jerking her head up, she found Ann, sheets thrown back, completely naked, stretching languidly, and staring at her. Anne’s mouth ran dry. The sun hadn't risen, so the only light camp from Anne's lamp, bathing the room in soft yellow, highlight the curves and valleys of Ann’s lithe form. She stooped to pick up the discarded shirt, cocking on eyebrow and sauntering back to the bed.

“What’s this?”

“I tried getting your attention,” Ann pouted, her blue eyes wide and innocent, “but you didn’t hear me.”

“So you threw your shirt at me?”

“I wanted you to come back."

Anne laughed and kissed her, falling into bed on top of her. They kissed slowly and deeply, no urgency in their movements. Anne slipped her arms under Ann’s slim frame; Ann trailed her fingers through Anne’s hair. They moved together silently and patiently, their legs slotting together almost by accident. Anne ground her hips into Ann’s leisurely, her thigh pressing into Ann’s center with no real intention; for now, she was content just to have Ann in her arms. 

After a few minutes, however, she could tell Ann was not so content. Her hips moved more firmly against Anne’s leg, her kisses a little more insistent. Anne shifted to trace one hand over Ann’s clavicle, down to her breast, around her nipple. Ann tore her lips away, gasping, eyes closed, head nodding. Anne busied herself along Ann’s jawline and neck, rolling the soft weight of Ann’s breast in her hand, enjoying the press of her nipple against her palm. Anne was surprised Ann hadn’t said a word; neither of them had. She made a silent bet with herself – she wouldn’t move lower until Ann asked for it. 

It didn’t take long.

“Pony,” Ann breathed, “please.”

“There she is,” Anne whispered in her ear, skating her hand along Ann’s stomach, reveling in the way her body tensed in anticipation. “I missed hearing you, baby.”

“Oh my God,” Ann exhaled as Anne’s fingertips ghosted over her clit.

“That good?” Anne grinned.

“You’re so,” Ann panted, “predictable.”

“What?” Anne froze.

“You – you always,” Ann was still breathing heavily, “you always want to – talk.”

“Is that bad?” Anne asked, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

“The only – uh, the only bad thing is you’re not – not touching me right now.”

Anne smiled, resuming her slow rhythm between Ann’s legs. Ann’s eyes slipped closed, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, as Anne teased her entrance. Ann lifted her hips, easing her gently inside. Anne groaned at the slick warmth greeting her, the soft sounds whispering from Ann’s lips. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Anne whispered in her ear. "You feel so good."

Ann nodded, eyes still closed, tongue poking out between her lips, pelvis still rolling to meet Anne’s gently thrusting hand. Anne increased her pace, rolling her own hips along Ann’s thigh, more out of instinct than anything else. This, today, right now, was more about pleasing her wife than finding her own relief. Ann ran one hand along her bicep, the other wrapped around her neck and tangled in her hair, pulling Anne impossibly closer. Anne nipped her jugular. 

“What do you want, my love?” She husked. “Tell me what you want.”

“I – uh, I –” Ann had that concentrating look on again, her fingers digging further into Anne’s skin. “I want to stay like this forever.”

“Really?” Anne chuckled into her skin.

“Yeah,” Ann breathed.

“What are we going to do for food?” Anne’s tongue traveled the length of Ann’s neck. 

Ann laughed breathlessly, her hips losing their rhythm for half a beat. She recovered with a shake of her head.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, her neck arching, pressing the crown of her head into the pillow as Anne slid a second finger inside. 

“It would take a little explaining to my students,” Anne rolled Ann’s nipple between her fingers, “but it would certainly make class more interesting.”

Ann shook her head, laughing. Anne pressed her lips to her jawline. 

“The real trouble is going to be when one of us has to use the bathroom. Not sure how we’ll manage that one.”

“Do you –” Ann struggled to get the words out, laughing and panting and grinning. “Do you have a soup bowl handy?”

Anne threw her head back and laughed. A big, full-bodied, tears-streaming laugh. Ann joined her, reaching one hand up to swipe the moisture from Anne’s cheek. Anne looked down at her little, pink-haired woman – gorgeous, kind, generous, sexy, and, to top it all off, funny. Anne licked her lips as she studied her flushed face, her tangled curls, her dancing eyes. Anne caught her lips fiercely, pressing into her more urgently. Ann moaned, meeting Anne’s every thrust, and soon, she was mumbling in that incoherent, adorable way.

“Yes, Po– Pony,” she panted, “that’s it, ri-right there, Pony, please, I – oh God, yes, Pony, yes, yes, yes.”

Ann seized upward, holding onto Anne and shuddering as her orgasm washed over her. Anne pressed smiling lips to her cheek as she coaxed her through it. Finally, Ann fell backward, breathing heavily. Anne sat back on her heels, cocking an eyebrow. Ann tilted her chin. Anne kissed her softly once, then twice. She stood. Ann reached for her.

“Can I go get dressed now?” Anne asked, swinging their clasped hands in the air.

“I guess,” Ann pulled the covers around her shoulders and snuggled into the pillow.

“You’re going back to sleep?”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Ann said matter-of-factly. 

Anne rolled her eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. 

“I’m going to skip breakfast, hmm?” Anne said as Ann’s eyes slid closed. “Doing some work on the estate this morning, alright?”

Ann nodded into the pillow. Anne released her hand and padded into the bathroom. By the time she emerged, Ann was snoring again. She grinned as she strode into the morning and set about her work. The sun was streaming gently now, the air still cool and breezy. She gathered a wheelbarrow, shovel, and her gardening gloves. Today was an excellent day to dig up some hedges. 

Except, digging up hedges wasn’t as easy as she remembered. She’d done it before, years ago, with Booth and Washington and the rest of the lads. It had seemed so easy then – diggings out the roots, cutting through them with the tip of her shovel, yanking the whole thing from the ground. She’d expected a few scrapes along her arms, but not this. By late morning, her body was scratched, bruised, and aching. She only had four shrubs in her wheelbarrow for all her trouble. She dragged the whole cursed lot to the potting shed and threw in her gloves with a huff. Sod it, she thought, she needed something to eat and a warm shower. Maybe Ann would join her in the shower, massage her tired muscles, heal her cut skin with her lips, relieve her –

“Where’s Little Ann?” Marian shattered her daydream as she entered the kitchen.

“How the hell should I know?” Anne barked, chugging a glass of water and rooting through the cupboard.

“Wasn’t she with you?”

“No,” Anne said, tearing into a granola bar. “I’ve been digging up hedges since dawn.”

“Right,” Marian drawled, “and then she went to find you. Before breakfast. She’s been gone all morning.”

“What?” Anne wiped her sweaty brow with the sleeve of her t-shirt. 

“Ann Walker,” Marian said slowly. “Your fiancée. Stormed out of here. In tears. Looking for you. Anne Lister. Her fiancée. Nearly three hours ago.”

“Oh my God,” Anne sighed, rolling her eyes and shoving the back door open. 

She pounded across the grass, fuming as she closed in on the chaumière. This was exactly what she did not need right now. Of course, Ann would have some breakdown right now. How absolutely typical. Anne was tired, sore, frustrated. All Anne wanted was a little relaxation, some time to collect herself, perhaps Ann taking care of her for a change. And now, here she was, dramatically disappearing, apparently weeping. Jesus Christ. 

Anne’s anger only grew the closer she got to the hut. Ann was too nervous and weak and poorly for her. Surely. What could she ever do with her? It was always this – this constant, ceaseless crying. Ann had two speeds: mewing wantonly and distracting Anne or sobbing uncontrollably and distracting Anne. It was exhausting. By the time she’d flung the door open, she was prepared to rant, rave, and scream, anything to shake some sense into her. 

But she couldn’t. Not once she saw her. Ann was huddled in the corner, arms hugging her legs to her chest, forehead perched on her knees. She raised her head at the sound of the door, her eyebrows knit together, her face pink and tear-stained. Her pale blue eyes tore a hole in Anne’s chest, and all her anger tumbled out, lifeless. She sighed, untying her boots and padding to Ann’s side, sinking down next to her; she wrapped one arm around her, pulling that pink head into her lap and stroking her hair, face, and neck.

“What’s happened, darling?”

“I got a call,” Ann said so softly Anne almost missed it, “from my aunt.”

“Is she sick? Someone in your family?”

“No, she –” Ann broke off, “she’d spoken to Christopher Rawson.”

“Okay,” Anne said slowly, gut already twisting. Christopher was always stirring up trouble.

“She, uh – she thinks I’m making a mistake. Being here. She – she was very adamant. The whole tribe is. I’ll be – uh, I’ll be cut off. If I marry you.”

“What do you want to do?” Anne asked, bracing herself. She’d had a good run, she supposed. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Ann whined, bringing one hand up to trace over Anne’s knee. “I love you – I love you so much, I can’t even – but they’re my family. I don’t –” Ann clicked her tongue and pushed herself upright, facing Anne. Her eyes flashed – with what, Anne couldn’t tell. “I don’t actually care what my aunt thinks, or, frankly, what most of my family thinks. But they’re my family, you know? I have my own money, and I have you, and I have your family, but - I don’t know what to do. Catherine is my best friend, and if her father thinks that I’m – that we’re – I mean, I might never see her again. I don’t –” Ann cut herself off, flipping a strand of hair out of her face, and squaring her shoulders. “She said I would have to choose, between you and my family. And it made me so upset, because – because I would choose you – obviously, I mean, of course, it’s no question, and I don’t even care about the tribe and it shouldn’t matter but. It does, Anne. I don’t want it to, but it does.”

Ann’s eyes were brimming with determination, fear, and tears. Anne smiled softly and nodded. An idea formed loosely in the back of her mind. Ann reached out and twisted her hand in Anne’s shirt; her eyes were so blue and so uncertain. Anne stroked her cheek with the pad of her thumb. This unpleasant-coming-out-to-family thing was unfamiliar territory; she said a silent prayer of gratitude that her family, for all their vulgarity and eccentricities, had never much questioned her lifelong pursuit of women rather than men. 

Ann tilted her chin. Anne cocked her head; Ann had gone from crying on the floor to babbling passionately to asking for a kiss. Anne hesitated - when would she start to understand this tiny, complicated person? 

“Kiss me,” Ann whispered. “Please.”

“You kiss me,” Anne said simply. Not a dare or a tease – a simple request that signified more than the simple connection of their lips. Anne wanted to believe her, that Ann would choose her over the tribe, but her past wounds ached, threatening to reopeon. Anne wanted her to put actions to her words, even if it was just in private. She wanted to be reminded that Ann wanted her, needed her, loved her.

Ann bit her lip and leaned in, catching Anne’s lips gently. Tension rolled from Anne’s shoulders. Right. This was Ann. She wasn’t like the rest. 

“I have an idea,” Anne said.

“What is it?”

“Give me your phone.”

Ann complied, and Anne dialed, turning on speakerphone and holding a finger to her lips. Ann furrowed her brows, but she nodded. 

“Ann, love,” Eliza Priestly chirped, “I was just talking to your aunt –”

“It’s Anne Lister, Eliza, don’t hang up.”

“Anne Lister,” Eliza squawked, “you have a lot of nerve. I’d been warning the family for weeks, but now you’ve admitted it? Prancing around town talking about marriage.”

“Eliza, nobody is prancing around town,” Anne droned; “there’s a lockdown.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Eliza scoffed. “I still remember three weeks ago, that Skype call –”

“I remember things too,” Anne drawled. “I remember your son, about two years ago. I remember his being called before the disciplinary committee.” Ann’s jaw dropped. Anne winked. “I remember something about a boy being drunk and disorderly with little, tiny baggies and a scholarship. The possibility of a record. Do you remember that?”

There was a long pause. Ann squeezed her knee. 

“I remember a professor – kind of brooding, harsh, devastatingly good-looking,” Ann nudged her shoulder. Anne grinned and kept going, “I remember that professor making it all go away. And your son, starting his senior year, is he? Are we on the same page here?”

“Yes,” came the strained reply. 

“Good. I was thinking, then, maybe you had some calls to make. To this tribe of yours. Soon to be mine as well, I guess,” Anne chuckled. “About what a lovely and kind and generous person that Anne Lister is. How happy you are to have her in the family.”

“Right,” Eliza said shortly. “I guess I can make a few calls.”

“That’s excellent, Eliza, thank you. Once this whole thing is over, you must come down to the Hall. Ann and I would love to have you.”

“Yes,” Eliza sounded strangled, “absolutely.”

“Bye now,” Anne hung up. 

And then Ann was in her lap, cupping her face, crashing their lips together. Anne grasped her hips lightly, her chest filling with that warmth of success, relief, and desire. Ann’s hips rolled gently, but Anne stilled her, breaking away. 

“I’m very dirty,” she said, rubbing her nose against Ann’s. 

“I’m sure you are,” Ann purred, hands trailing down Anne’s neck, along her sides, to the hem of her shirt. 

“No, really,” Anne laughed, catching her hands and pressing them against her chest, “I’m dirty and grouchy and sore. I need a shower. And some antiseptic. And maybe a lie-down.”

“Okay,” Ann smiled and scrambled to her feet.

Anne heaved herself upright, the aches in her muscles returning. They walked slowly back to the house, hands intertwined, the sun beating down on them. 

“Call Catherine later, hmm?” Anne suggested. “I think she’s – I think she might surprise you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we’ve settled the issue of the tribe, but I hate that – that you felt Catherine would drop you because of something the tribe might say or do. I don’t know her very well, but she cares about you. Even the little bit of time I spent with her, I could tell how important you are to her. Give her some credit.” Anne squeezed her hand. “And yourself some too, miss. Nobody would give you up that easily.”

“No?” Ann smiled as they climbed the stairs to their bedroom. 

“I certainly couldn’t,” Anne said quietly. 

“Thank you. For that. With Eliza. I – I know you must be tired of dealing with me, and you’d just spent all morning –”

“Hey,” Anne closed their door gently, leaning back against it, “you know I would do anything in the world for you. Don’t you?” 

Ann nodded, smiling shyly. Anne held out her hand, pulling Ann into her arms. 

“I would. Anything.” Anne paused, searching Ann’s face. Then she grinned. “Now, Miss Walker, I need something from you.”

“What?”

“I need you,” Anne paused dramatically, “to join me in that shower.”

Ann laughed and tugged her toward the bathroom. It didn’t matter, Anne realized, if she had to wipe Ann’s tears every single day. As frustrated and tired as she had been on entering that chaumière, none of it mattered once she saw Ann’s face. The girl absolutely unhinged her. Besides, she thought as Ann pulled her grimy t-shirt over her head, she rather liked being unhinged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Back to more of a standard chapter, what do we think?
> 
> Beginning based on the classic: "I was just going to wash when she mewed for me." June 9, 1835. If that's not whipped, I don't know what is. 
> 
> I don't know if the Priestleys had children, but I assume so? I don't know why I feel like I've read that they didn't, but it's my story so I'll do what I like. 
> 
> As always, you all are keeping me sane in this mess. I can't help getting a little worked up (and not in the good way) seeing some of the news, so this is a welcome distraction. You all are so lovely and kind. Thank you!


	25. Tuesday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up there is a little mention of Ainsworth toward the end, about 2/3 of the way down. Nothing major, but just in case. 
> 
> Oh, and it starts dirty. And it ends dirty. Well.

How did Anne manage to get herself so scratched up? Ann could never understand her recklessness. If Ann saw something sharp or rough or potentially painful, she ran as far as she could in the opposite direction. Anne Lister? Dove headfirst into it. Only noticed the damage afterward. Ann smiled ruefully as she ran the soft washcloth along Anne’s skin, erasing smudges of dirt and dried blood under the warm stream of the shower. The scratches actually weren’t as bad as they seemed, cleaned up, and Ann noticed only a few spots that would actually need a bandage.

“Adney,” Anne sighed, “that feels so good.”

“You know what would feel even better?” Ann massaged her broad shoulders, kissed the back of her soapy neck, then slipped one hand down to the crease where Anne’s torso met her thigh. Anne exhaled shakily.

“I can’t,” Anne breathed, catching her hand.

“What?”

“I can’t –” Anne laughed, “I don’t know if I can stand up that long, darling.”

“Oh,” Ann relaxed.

“Come on,” Anne shook her hair under the spray one more time, pulling Ann into her. 

Ann giggled, water splashing in her face. Anne grinned and pushed Ann’s hair back, cupping her face in her hands. Anne’s height shielded Ann from the falling water, the steam swirling around them, their lips meeting gently. Anne broke away, reaching behind her to turn off the water. Ann stepped onto the bathmat, grabbing one of Anne’s faded blue towels and stretching her arms wide. She wrapped Anne in the towel, rubbing her way down Anne’s shoulders, along her arms, across her chest, down her legs. Anne’s body mesmerized her, her skin pulled taut over hard muscles, veins pressing forward, soft tan lines around her arms, collar, calves, and thighs. 

“Get up here,” Anne groaned playfully, pulling Ann upright and wrapping her in a towel-clad bear hug. Ann giggled, wriggling against her strong arms. “Here we go,” Anne laughed, walking Ann clumsily into the bedroom and tumbling onto the mattress. 

Ann rolled out of her embrace, scrambling to her feet. 

“Don’t move,” she whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

Ann went into the adjoining room, dressing quickly in a t-shirt and jeans. She knew if she fell, naked, into bed with Anne, they’d never get back up. She also knew that Anne wanted to work on her writing this afternoon; Anne had grumbled about how behind she was as they came inside. As much as Ann would love to spend all afternoon wrapped in Anne’s arms, she knew Anne would be happier and more relaxed if she got some work done. 

“What are you doing?” Anne’s voice came from the other room. Ann peeked her head in the doorway.

“I told you not to move,” Ann chastised. Anne groaned, falling back into the sheets.

Ann retrieved the rudimentary first aid kit from the bathroom, then sauntered back. Anne was flat on her back, legs spread and dangling over the edge. Ann knelt, kissing the inside of Anne’s knee. She covered the cut on Anne’s calf, then stood. Anne quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Ann focused on the scrapes along Anne’s arms, kissing each plaster in turn. When she finished, she pressed a soft kiss to Anne’s lips before starting her slow descent. 

She relished the feeling of Anne tensing below her lips, her firm body straining upward, the reversal of their roles. Ann shifted to her knees, spreading Anne’s legs in the process. She started slowly, pressing her lips to the inside of her thighs, dragging her tongue along her folds. At the first press to her clit, Anne curled forward, a choked gasp slipping from her lips. Ann grinned, reaching upward, pressing Anne gently backward. Anne groaned, wrapping her hand around Ann’s and pressing it into her sternum. Ann hummed against her skin, pleased by that simple act of possession, of connection. She wrapped her free hand around Anne’s hip, easing her forward. 

“There,” Anne moaned. “Right there, Adney, ri- yes, baby.”

Ann flushed, working her lips and tongue faster. She loved to hear Anne’s low voice calling her baby. She loved being ‘Adney’ and ‘darling’ too, but ‘baby’ was something else. It was more juvenile, not in that Ann was a baby, but that it felt like something high school sweethearts would call each other. It was diminutive and sweet and possessive and incredibly hot. No time to focus on that, however, because Anne’s thighs were tensing, her chest heaving, her fingers tightening around Ann’s. Ann grinned, sucking Anne’s clit between her lips, digging her fingers into her hip. A firm hand pressed at the back of her head, tangling in her hair, tugging gently. 

“Fuck, A- fuck,” Anne panted above her, “you’re so – fuck, Ann, you’re so good.”

Ann purred against her center, moving her lips, tongue, and teeth in desperation. Anne surrounded her – her taste, her skin, her words. She could drown in this feeling. But she wouldn’t, because Anne was seizing around her, arousal coating her chin, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Ann slowed her tongue, coaxing out the last of her release. Anne’s hand eased off the back of her head, and Ann rose to her feet, wiping her mouth. 

Anne was wrecked – panting, grinning, tugging at Ann’s arm. Ann fell into bed next to her, tracing her fingertips along Anne’s abdomen. This moment never failed to amaze her – Anne Lister in recovery, at rest for once. Her body, usually in constant motion, had been lain flat, by one Ann Walker. Her chest swelled with pride, having rendered The Great Anne Lister into nothing more than a sweaty, satisfied heap. 

“You’re so quiet,” Ann said after a few, long moments.

“This morning you said I talked too much,” Anne quirked an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Good.” Anne kissed the back of her hand. 

“How do you feel?” Ann remembered Anne’s words about being grouchy and sore.

“Amazing,” Anne teased, “obviously. 

“Seriously,” Ann squeezed her hand. “You did a lot of work today.”

“I feel very good, my love. A little tired, I think, but I’ll survive.”

“Good,” Ann said crisply, standing. “Get dressed, Pony. You have some writing to do.”

Anne scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I think you’d better get to it,” Ann squeezed her knee and breezed out of the room. 

Because otherwise she was going to maul Anne Lister, and she already felt guilty for taking up so much of her time. It was difficult, she thought, balancing her needs with Anne’s independence. She hated how needy she felt, how much time she asked Anne to sacrifice for her. Before she had Anne, she handled her emotions on her own, though not always in the healthiest ways. Now, she was worried she’d use Anne as a crutch, relying on her to set her right every time she got upset. That wasn’t fair to Anne, and it wasn’t healthy for either of them or their relationship. As she made her way to the chaumière, she tried to think of a way to repay her. It seemed like Anne was always doing something for her – driving her, cooking for her, comforting her. Ann wanted to surprise her, but she couldn’t think of anything. 

She called Catherine.

“Annie!” Catherine’s bright voice filled the hut. “Papa was just talking about you. He was a little worried about Dr. Lister at first, but I was like, look, Dad, I’ve met her, and she is the real deal. And then Mrs. Priestley just called and said the same thing! Isn’t that crazy?”

“Yeah,” Ann chuckled, “I guess it is.”

She settled back into the couch, listening to Catherine’s mindless prattle about her boredom, her shows, her quarantine crushes. She allowed her thoughts to drift, sketching abstractly as Catherine spoke. Then she started talking about this “at-home bar” Catherine had seen on Instagram, and Ann snapped back into focus.

“What was it?” She interrupted. 

“This couple – they’re influencers – they set up, like, this bar at their house. You know? Like, they turned the lights really low, and they played music really loudly. They made drinks, and they danced. It looked really fun! I wish I could do that,” Catherine pouted. 

“That… that does sound fun,” Ann said thoughtfully. 

“You should do that for Anne!” Catherine cried. “That would be, like, so much fun!”

“I was just thinking that, actually.”

“Oh my God, yes! You have to. Okay, can you get alcohol? Or lights? Shit, don’t her, like, grandparents live with you? That is not fun.”

“I think I can make it work,” Ann laughed, not bothering to correct her. “We have this little, uh – like a little house off from the main house. It’s my art studio, but we come here sometimes, you know, to –”

“Like a love shack?” Catherine’s voice dripped with envy.

“Cat!” 

“Like a fuck hut?” 

“Catherine, please!” Ann’s cheeks burned.

“That’s so romantic,” Catherine whined. “You are so lucky. Now, go! Go do it, Annie!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Hold on –” Catherine caught her just before she hung up. “This is a crazy idea, and don’t judge me, but – does Anne smoke? I feel like she would look super hot smoking. Like, you’re in the club, you’re dancing, then you go outside for a smoke. I have been dreaming of meeting some hottie in the smoking section when we're finally free. You see what I’m saying, Annie?” Catherine was practically panting. 

“Yeah,” Ann breathed, “yeah that’s a good idea.”

She hung up, heart still racing at the mental image of Anne Lister smoking. Catherine was right – that would be hot. But how could she get any of the things she needed to set this up?

She raced back to the house, finding Marian on the couch. She explained her plan, and Marian agreed to help her. They started by raiding the liquor cabinet. 

“How much alcohol can two people drink?” Marian asked as Ann pulled out bottle after bottle. 

“I just want to have options,” Ann defended herself. “Is this too much?”

“No, no,” Marian asked, her eyes wide. “Um, how about some mixers?”

They rooted through the fridge, and Marian convinced her to narrow down her alcohol choices to bourbon and tequila. They pulled out pretzels and peanuts, which Ann felt were the quintessential bar snacks. Marian even had a wireless speaker and a strobe light. They amassed a substantial pile of supplies, but one thing was still missing. 

“Do you –” Ann bit her lip. “Do you have any cigarettes?”

“No,” Marian said slowly. Ann could practically see the wheels in her head turning. “What for?”

“Well, I –” how do you tell your friend you think her sister would look insanely sexy smoking a cigarette?”

“Never mind,” Marian laughed, “I think I can guess.” Marian grabbed her hand and tugged her deeper into the house, finding Captain Lister nodding off in the parlor. Marian cleared her throat loudly, rousing him.

“Is it dinner?” He asked blearily.

“Father,” Marian said loudly, “I was wondering if you were smoking.”

“You know I quit,” Captain Lister straightened, stiffened. 

“Father,” Marian warned.

For a moment, Ann watched Marian and her father face off – eyes squinting, jaws set, backs straight. She squeezed Marian’s hand anxiously. The Captain broke first. 

“Fine,” he sighed, reaching into his back pocket. “You’ve caught me.”

“No more,” Marian took the pack of cigarettes from him. “Your doctor said –”

“I know what he said,” Captain Lister grumbled. 

“There’s gum in the kitchen,” Marian said softly, squeezing his shoulder and pulling Ann out of the room. 

Marian proudly presented the crumpled package to Ann – four cigarettes and lighter tucked inside. Ann couldn’t suppress her grin.

“Thank you,” Ann offered quietly.

“Not a problem,” Marian shrugged. “I knew he was sneaking them, but I hadn’t done anything yet. This was as good of an excuse as anything.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Ann said more forcefully. 

“Happy to do it,” Marian nodded, “I like seeing you excited like this. And Anne, I guess.” She rolled her eyes. “Does this mean you’ll be out of the house this evening?”

“I think so,” Ann felt a little embarrassed, sharing her plans with Anne’s sister. “Probably leave after dinner, then, uh, then back late.”

“If back at all,” Marian nudged her with a wink. Ann flushed. “Come on, Little Ann. It’s okay. I have witnessed much worse than your little backyard bar. I want you to have a good time.”

Ann nodded, taking her box and rushing back to the chaumière. With considerable effort, she managed to push the couch against the wall; the drafting table made an excellent bar, neatly lined with glasses, bottles, and mixers. No ice, she thought with a hint of disappointment. No real kitchen in here. It took her a while, but she did figure out Marian’s light; it could bathe the central room in red, blue, pink, yellow, green. The speaker was a cinch, and she spent quite a while composing a suitable playlist. By the time she’d finished, it was nearly dinner time. 

She huffed onto the bed, satisfied with her work. Anne would love this. They’d eat dinner, then Ann would lead her out here. Anne would be suitably impressed. They could drink and dance and kiss, and – maybe, it would get warm in the chaumière, Ann fantasized, and they would step outside. Anne would light one of those cigarettes, the smoke swirling around her in the night air. Ann would take a cheeky puff, and they would make out right there, pressed against the rough exterior of the building, like they’d just met at the bar. Anne would lead her back inside, maybe a drink or two more, a bit of sloppy dancing, then they’d stumble into the bedroom. They would fumble in the dark, half-drunk and laughing. Back in reality, Ann swirled her hips fruitlessly. 

An idea struck her – she rolled onto her side and slid open the nightstand drawer. There it was, that black box that had the Pavlovian power to arouse Ann by sight alone. Ann bit her lip, staring at it. She really should start using the chaumière as a studio, she thought, not as a – what Catherine had said. Still, she couldn’t deny the exciting prospect of a night far from prying ears. She rolled onto her back, her core pulsing. Could she even wait until tonight?

Ann Walker was not much of a masturbator. In fact, she hadn’t even figured out how to do it until she was nearly 20. Sheltered childhood, not enough access to the internet, all that. When she had, she still struggled to figure out what she liked, what she wanted, who she wanted. And then Ainsworth had come around and wrecked it for her. It taken a lot of uncomfortable sessions with her therapist to work herself back into a place where she could enjoy sexual attraction again. Even then, she touched herself infrequently. It was never enough, never quite right, always a bit of a let down when it was over – alone, with nothing but racing heart and wet hand to show for it. Which is, of course, why Anne Lister had rocked her world so thoroughly. Anne’s hands on her body – there was no comparison. It was like Dorothy arriving in Oz; everything was suddenly technicolor. 

So, of course, it would be madness for Ann to wank right now. Right?

Ann turned over, looking at that little black box. She’d never used anything like it on her own, she thought, lifting it carefully from the drawer. How would that even work? She wondered, sliding off the lid and staring at the smooth, pink silicone. It made much more sense to wait for Anne, she decided, slipping her jeans and panties down around her thighs. There wasn’t much time before dinner; her fingers ghosted between her legs. She’d have to be quick; she gathered her arousal on her fingertips. She was wet already – maybe from the dirty thoughts, from the anticipation, from the sight of the strap. Before long, she had built a steady rhythm, bent her legs and spread them wide. Images flooded her mind – Anne in the shower, in their bed, even just striding across the green fields of Shibden. Easing a single finger inside, Ann bit her lip. This was taking so long, but she knew she’d regret rushing it. Soon she slipped a second finger inside, stroking her clit with her free hand. 

It wasn’t as good as Anne, nothing could be, but, God, it was still good. Pumping three fingers in and out of her core, Ann reached for the strap. She slipped her fingers out, sliding the silicone gently between her folds, coating it in her arousal. She slid further down on the bed, kicking her jeans off entirely, spreading her legs further, lifting her hips. She breathed deeply – part of her couldn’t believe she was really doing this, but another, larger part demanded it. Her need was too great. 

The strap slid inside her easily, more easily than she’d thought. She forced herself to relax, accepting inch after inch slowly. She sighed in relief at being filled, dropping her other hand to stroke her clit again. This was so much better than her own hand; now she could imagine Anne was here, above her, filling her. Her wrist bent awkwardly at the angle, but she didn’t mind. She lifted her hips, thrusting more quickly, feeling her release building. It was good, it was so good, but it wasn’t enough. She started thrusting harder, rubbing her clit faster, mumbling to herself. 

Which is probably why she didn’t hear the door open. Or a pair of boots drop by the door. Or footsteps trot into the bedroom.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Ann muttered to herself, chasing her release frantically. “Yes, come on, yes.” She was getting closer, picturing Anne thrusting into her. “Pony, please, make me come, come on, please, Anne, please.”

“Adney?” The soft, low voice broke into her fantasy. Ann’s eyes shot open. She froze. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” Anne smirked, her eyes blazing. 

Ann opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak. Between her impending orgasm and her total embarrassment, she wasn’t sure what there was to say. Not to mention, her jeans and underwear at the foot of the bed, the pink silicone cock still nestled between her legs. Anne could see everything from where she was standing. 

“Keep going,” Anne husked, moving slowly to the side of the bed. 

“I can’t,” Ann whispered, shivering as Anne perched at her feet and placed her hands on Ann’s knees. 

“Why not?” Anne furrowed her brow. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Ann gasped. “No, I – I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“I can’t…you know. On my own.”

“You looked like you were doing just fine,” Anne purred. 

“I was,” Ann nodded, “but I can’t – I can’t come. I don’t know, I – I need you.”

“Well,” Anne leaned forward, covering Ann’s hand on the strap, “I live to serve.”

Ann would’ve laughed, would’ve rolled her eyes, would’ve tried to think of a comeback, if Anne hadn’t ground the strap into her at that precise moment. Instead, Ann tilted her head back, gasping and strumming her clit furiously. Anne pushed her legs wider and moved forward, pressing a kiss to Ann’s neck as she started thrusting steadily. Ann’s free hand grappled at Anne’s back, her hips rutting into the cock, her neck stretching under Anne’s lips. It was everything, and Ann felt herself climbing that impossible peak again, this time with more confidence. Soon, she reached the pinnacle, falling over the edge with a broken cry. Anne’s hot breath filled her ear, whispering encouragement as she coaxed her down. Finally, Anne pulled away entirely and sat back on her heels, watching Ann catch her breath. 

“Good God, Adney,” Anne breathed. “If I didn’t have food in the oven right now,” Anne sucked her teeth, “things I would do to you.”

“Save it for later,” Ann said breathlessly. “I have a surprise for you.”

“That’s what Marian said,” Anne narrowed her eyes, “which is suspicious.”

“Do you know we’ve only had one date?” Ann asked in a half-pout, sitting up more fully.

“Really?” Anne asked incredulously, fiddling with the strap in her hands. “I feel I know you so well.”

The absurdity of their words struck Ann, but she enjoyed it. It was exciting, to play like this, to feign at being strangers with the person who knew her better than anyone. By the blazing light in Anne’s eyes, she thought so too.

“I was wondering if you were free tonight,” Ann reached for her clothes, wriggling into them. “If you’d go out with me?”

“With you?” Anne looked at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. “I guess I can move a few things around.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Ann whispered, running a hand over Anne’s shoulder and along her neck. 

“I’m sure you will,” Anne husked.

Ann leaned forward, catching her lips. The warm coils of anticipation built within her already. The prospect of the night ahead inflamed her. Sometimes she wished they’d met under normal circumstances, that she could live through the second-date jitters instead of fabricating them. But then she looked into Anne’s deep brown eyes or caught sight of the onyx on her finger or woke up in those strong arms, and she knew she wouldn’t change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank those reprobates, users ReleaseTheSheep, S., and firstdown for the filth at the end. It happened to fit right in with what I'd already written for today. Good Lord. 
> 
> Well, what do we think? Some of these end notes I'm writing are almost as long as the chapters themselves! I'm going to try to cool it with that. Thank you, as always, for reading and for your feedback!


	26. Tuesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is... very long... and very dirty...  
> (I rushed the editing a bit please forgive me)

“Dress like you’re going out, like you’re trying to pick up a girl,” Ann had said, before flouncing out into the evening in the tightest skirt Anne had ever seen. Anne swallowed dryly at the memory of it, even now, alone in their bedroom, staring at her clothes. She had chosen black chinos, a bit form-fitting, but that seemed to be the style tonight. She was debating on a tie/shirt combination. She loved to watch a woman toy with her tie as they danced around the inevitable. She hadn’t much worn a tie around Ann, and she was looking forward to that particular moment. She decided on her only white shirt, the one she’d proposed in, and a black, skinny, knit tie, thinking how nice it would look wrapped around Ann’s fist, pulling her in closer. 

Lacing up her black brogues, she wondered what this big surprise Ann and Marian had teased all evening. Surely it couldn’t be too dirty if Marian knew about it. By the same token, Ann wouldn’t be this excited and secretive if it was something banal, like cufflinks or a new book. Trotting down the stairs, Anne felt a twinge of nerves, which, though not exactly familiar, were actually quite exciting. A change of pace like this was just the ticket, she thought as she slipped out the back door. 

Ann was waiting for her, outside the door to the chaumière, looking delectable in that silver dress, her hair half-tied back, the other half falling around her shoulders. That pink hair, Anne sighed, would she ever get tired of it? The sun was setting somewhere behind the trees, and the whole clearing glowed with soft, yellow light. Anne grinned,   
cocking her head as she approached. 

“Hello,” she purred.

“Good evening,” Ann’s voice was formal, but sultry. “Welcome to the Adney’s.”

She opened the door, ushering Anne inside. The main room was transformed, bathed in a soft blue light, with fast-paced music playing quietly. Anne had noticed the rearranged furniture this afternoon, but now she understood the liquor bottles on the table. Ann had built them a private bar. She turned to her, mouth open, shaking her head. 

“You did all of this?”

“Yep,” Ann smiled proudly, moving behind the table-turned-bar. A bottle of bourbon, a bottle of tequila, a salt shaker, two shot glasses, a lime, and two glasses lined the top. Bowls of pretzels and peanuts sat on the other end. Ann cocked her head. “Thirsty?”

“I think I am,” Anne nodded, “what, uh, what’s the special?”

“Well, hmmm,” Ann shifted out of her sultry voice, sounding more like the Ann she knew, “I can do tequila shots, which I love. I can make a tequila sunrise, if you don’t distract me. Or there’s bourbon. We don’t have any ice, so nothing on the rocks.”

“Okay,” Anne chuckled, “how about a shot? To start the night?”

“Okay,” Ann grinned, pulling out the lime, a knife, a cutting board. 

Anne watched her slice carefully, then line up the salt shaker, a lime wedge, and a shot glass. She poured the tequila carefully, then looked up at Anne, raising an eyebrow. 

“Can I buy one for the bartender?”

Ann flushed, shaking her head, but she poured a second shot. Anne licked a broad stripe on the side of her own thumb, shaking salt onto it, holding Ann’s gaze. Ann followed suit. They raised their glasses in unison, then tilted them back. The warm burn down Anne’s throat seemed to continue all the way to her core. Anne bit into her lime, looking up to find Ann doing the same. An idea occurred to her. 

“Let me get one more.”

“Oh, I don’t think I can –” Ann stuttered, voice a little hoarse. 

“Come here,” Anne whispered. 

Ann came around the side of the bar, and Anne pulled her close. She kissed her softly on the lips, then bent her head to lick a wide swath on her neck. Ann tilted, breathing shakily; Anne grinned – she knew what was coming. Anne sprinkled salt along Ann’s neck, then passed her a slice of lime. She poured herself another shot, winking at Ann. Anne dragged her tongue along Ann’s neck, collecting the sharp crystals along that pale column. She threw her head back, relishing the burn in her throat. When she righted herself, Ann was holding the lime between her teeth. Anne dove in, biting into the lime, her mouth flooding with its sour juice, then ripping it away with her fingers to catch Ann’s lips properly. The kiss was everything – salty and sour and sweet. Ann’s hands fisted in the back of her shirt; Anne cupped her face in one hand, the other still holding the shot glass. 

“I think I like this bar,” Anne husked as they broke away. 

“We aim to please.”

The moment smoldered between them. Anne wondered briefly if she should just toss Ann over her shoulder and get down to it. But Ann had worked so hard on this. She seemed so pleased with herself, leaning against the table and waiting for Anne to make a move. No, Anne decided, she’d let this tension ride a little longer. 

“What would you do?” Ann broke into her thoughts. “If you were trying to pick me up in a bar?”

“Is this our second date, Adney? Or are we strangers? Or are you the bartender?” Anne smirked. If Ann wanted to play, they’d better get the rules laid out. 

“I don’t know,” Ann shrugged helplessly. She bit her lip, considering. “Let’s say we’re strangers. How would you start a conversation with me?”

“Well,” Anne inhaled, enjoying the familiar rush of the hunt, “first I’d ask if I could buy you a drink.”

“So ask me.”

Anne bit the inside of her cheek, then straightened, squared her shoulders. She leaned into the table next to Ann, mirroring her body language. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” She husked.

“Sure,” Ann smiled. 

“You look like you want something sweet,” Anne arched an eyebrow. Ann flushed. “I hear there’s a cute bartender here who makes an excellent tequila sunrise.”

Ann laughed and rounded the table, mixing her drink. Anne watched her silently, remembering her words about being distracted. Ann was so cute like this – focused, determined, a little shy. She titled her head in question. 

“Old fashioned,” Anne said. 

“Okay, so we don’t have the stuff for that,” Ann said quickly, “I can make you what my father used to call ‘the quick and dirty.’”

“Sounds perfect,” Anne licked her lips. “What’s in that?”

“Bourbon and ginger ale.”

“Okay,” Anne laughed. 

Ann presented both drinks, and they clinked their glasses together. Ann walked toward the couch, which faced the far wall and pressed flush against it. She perched on the low back, her bare legs stretching for what seemed like miles. Anne swallowed dryly and crossed the room. 

“You didn’t even tell me your name.”

“Ann,” she chuckled into her drink.

“What a coincidence. Mine too.”

Ann hummed and sipped her drink. Anne was surprised how difficult it felt making conversation with her own wife. She took a drink, allowing the bourbon to kick her into gear. She’d picked up plenty of women in the past – why was this different?

“What’s a girl like you doing in a bar like this?” Anne asked, leaning over her, standing a bit too close. 

“Looking for a bit of excitement, I guess.”

“Are your friends around?”

“They left.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not my type,” Ann reached out, toying with the end of her tie. Anne grinned.

“Girlfriend? She gone home?”

“Haven’t got one.”

“You’re telling me,” Anne stepped closer, one leg now slipped between Ann’s, “you’re here alone? Beautiful girl like you?”

“I guess so,” Ann shrugged, a smile playing faintly at the corner of her mouth. 

“That can’t be right.”

“And the worst part,” Anne pouted, “is all I really want to do is dance.”

“Really?” Anne’s heart raced. Ann was good at this.

“But I don’t have a partner.” Ann tugged at her tie.

“You do now,” Anne took her hand, pulling her to her feet. 

Ann giggled, rushing over to turn up the volume on her phone. A steady, fast beat filled the room. Anne drained her glass, setting it on the table. Ann waggled her eyebrows. Anne closed the distance in two strides, wrapping her arms easily around Anne’s waist, relishing the feeling of Ann’s draped around her neck. They moved together easily, hips swaying in sync, eyes trading silent dares, Ann’s hands threading in her hair. Anne slipped one hand lower, cupping the round curve of Ann’s ass. Ann bit her lip.

“I thought you weren’t good at dancing,” she broke character.

“This is different,” Anne pulled her closer, whispering in her ear. “This is more like making love.” Ann exhaled shakily. “Listening to your partner, finding the rhythm, feeling their body.” Anne nipped her earlobe. “As you may know, I’m pretty good at that.”

Ann opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it, biting her lip and studying Anne, wide-eyed. This was the moment, Anne knew, when a casual flirtation shifted into something steamier. She ground their hips together more firmly, splaying one hand across Ann’s back, the other still gently kneading her behind. Ann’s head fell forward, her forehead balanced on Anne’s shoulder. Now Anne had to be very careful, not to rush things; the song was ending, and the next one would determine her next move. Another fast song might need a change of pace, another drink, some flirting chatter. A slow song would change the tenor of the night completely – all quiet conversation and soft touches. In truth, Anne was hoping for something sultry, a medium-tempo kind of groove that would allow her to flip Ann around, grinding her pelvis into Ann’s rear, dripping filth into her ear. 

Oh, and He is a kind and loving God. 

The next song was exactly what Anne had wanted, and she turned Ann slowly by the hips. Ann acquiesced, immediately pressing her back flush to Anne’s front, reaching one hand back around Anne’s neck and the other wrapping lightly around Anne’s wrist. Anne pulled her impossibly closer, arms wrapped about her middle, head craned forward, lips hovering over her ear. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in this bar,” Anne husked. 

“I’m the only girl in this bar,” Ann retorted, seemingly bolder now that she wasn’t facing Anne.

“You’re the most beautiful girl on this planet, how about that?”

“Better.”

“The things I’d like to do to you,” Anne pressed her hips into Ann.

“You haven’t even kissed me yet,” Ann was breathless, her head falling back onto Anne’s shoulders, both arms now clutching Anne’s around her middle. 

“Haven’t I? That will never do.”

Anne started at the base of her throat, pressing her lips firmly to her flushed skin. She could feel Ann’s moans rumbling beneath her lips. She trailed one hand up Ann’s front, until she reached her chin, grasping it firmly and bringing their lips together. This angle was not ideal, but Anne knew the combination of the music, the movement, and the kiss would reduce the woman in her arms to putty. An undercurrent of desire pulsed between them, but neither moved further. And for the rest of the song, they stayed like that – intertwined, pressing together, their lips meeting sloppily. In a tiny cottage in a clearing on a Tuesday night. 

The next song was much too fast, and they broke away with a chuckle. Anne swallowed dryly, calculating her next move. 

“It’s awfully hot in here, isn’t it?” Ann breathed.

“It is,” Anne unfastened the top button of her shirt, loosening her tie. “Want to get some fresh air?”

Ann’s eyes widened, but she followed Anne outside. The evening was perfect – warm, but not so warm as the inside of their fantasy bar. The cooler air was a relief, and Anne sagged against the rough exterior of the chaumière. Ann’s silver dress sparkled in the moonlight. She was holding something out to Anne, her head cocked to the side. Anne’s eyes finally focused – a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Anne exhaled a laugh, furrowing her brows in question.

“Fancy a smoke?” Ann asked innocently.

“Sure,” Anne held out her hand, “you?”

“No.” Her voice was so quiet Anne almost missed it. 

Anne shrugged, lighting the cigarette and inhaling deeply. It had been years since she’d smoked, and the rough warmth of it filling her chest felt familiar and comforting. Ann was watching her intently. 

“Why do you have these?” Anne exhaled. “If you don’t smoke.”

“I – uh,” Ann chuckled, looking down at her feet, “I like women who smoke.”

“Is that right?”

Ann nodded, grinning, and plucked the cigarette from between her fingers, placing it between her own lips. Anne could tell by the way her chest expanded, the way her mouth moved, that she hadn’t inhaled. Perhaps she didn’t know how. Perhaps she was afraid to. The grey smoke billowed from her lips, and Ann held her hand out. Anne took another drag, then, seeing the need reflected in Ann’s eyes, tossed the smoke to the ground and stubbed it under her heel. She crashed into Ann, pressing her roughly into the wall of the hut, bringing their lips together fervently. Ann’s tongue searched her mouth, her hands twisted in her hair, her chest pressed into Anne’s. Ann tasted like salt and tequila and smoke; this combination in her innocent, sheltered wife set Anne aflame. She planted one hand above Ann’s head, grounding herself in the hard wall behind her. The other traced along Ann’s hip, down her thigh, along the hem of that maddening skirt. 

“Do you do this with all the girls?” Ann panted. 

“Only you, baby.” Anne husked, turning her attention to Ann’s neck, glowing white in the moonlight. 

Ann’s chest rose and fell in what might have been laughter, but the only sounds were those of her whimpers, of Anne’s lips meeting her skin, of the smooth journey of her dress up to her waist. Anne slid her hand along the curve of Ann’s hip, tracing the line of her panties; she moved lower, cupping Ann through the fabric, massaging her gently. She could feel Ann’s arousal seeping through already. 

“Fuck, Anne. Do you – seriously, did you do this with all the girls?”

“Press them against the wall of the cottage I restored to be their art studio?” Anne nipped Ann’s jugular. “Not even once.”

“Anne,” Ann pulled away. Anne froze. “Did, uh, did you used to do this a lot?”

“What do you mean?” Anne pulled away, shoving her hands in her pockets. Ann was always so jealous of her past, but this was new – Ann interrupting a perfectly good grope to dredge up ancient history. 

“Go to bars,” Ann tugged down her skirt, “meet some girl. Feel her up outside the bar. Go home with her.”

“I – Ann, listen,” Anne took her hands, trying to convey her sincerity through her eyes. “I did, sometimes. Yeah. I thought – I thought that was part of this. That you wanted me to – to pick you up, like – uh, like I usually would.”

“Yeah,” Ann picked at her fingernail, “yeah, but I can’t – I can’t stop thinking about those other women. The ones you – the ones who had you before me.”

“Hey,” Anne took her chin gently, tilting Ann’s face to meet her gaze. “I can’t change the past or who I was then. But I can tell you that none of them compare to you. Not even close.”

Ann had that look, that look right in between insecurity and trust. Her tongue poked out between her lips. She ran a hand through her hair. 

“I love you so much, Ann Walker. There’s no one else in the world for me.”

Ann bit her lip, then nodded. Anne sighed in relief, taking her hand. 

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Ann smiled. 

Anne tugged her inside. The song had changed again – Ella Fitzgerald crooned softly now. Anne twirled Ann in her arms, adopting that formal ballroom hold she’d learned in boarding school. They moved in a slow waltz. Ann’s hand snuck along her shoulder, and her fingertips stretched to brush against her neck. Anne focused on the steps, desperate not to crush Ann’s toes, grounding herself in the small of Ann’s back, the clasp of their hands out to the side. Ann squeezed her shoulder.

“You look so worried, Pony.”

“I’m concentrating.”

“Where’d you learn to lead?” 

“Ripon. A benefit of single-gender education – the tall girls get to try out being men.”

Ann laughed, shaking her head. The song ended, and Anne broke away. She meandered to the makeshift bar, pouring herself a drink. Ann cozied up beside her, arm sliding along her back. 

“Another drink?” Anne asked. 

“I don’t think so.”

Anne nodded, running her tongue between her front teeth and her lip and wondering how much longer before she could throw Ann onto that bed back there. Ann was bouncing along to the music beside her. Anne grinned and cocked her head.

“I love this song,” Ann said over the music. “Dance with me.”

“Okay,” Anne said indulgently.

The song wasn’t Anne’s taste – all throbbing guitar and sharp drumbeat and young male voices. Once Ann wrapped her body around Anne’s, she changed her tune. If it kept Ann moving like this, hell, it might be her favorite song. Ann wrapped her fist in Anne’s tie (so much better than her imagination) and pulled their bodies flush. It was a mirror image of their positions at the beginning of the night, but now Ann was in control. She pressed their pelvises together, one hand gripping Anne’s hip, and then she started singing in Anne’s ear. 

_“Do you tell ‘em that you love me,  
The way that I been lovin’ you?” _

Ann’s voice switched to a high falsetto, matching the band’s. It would’ve made Anne laugh, if she could breathe at all. 

_“’Cause every night you and I find ourselves  
Kissin’ and touchin’ like no one else  
Fallin’ and fallin’ until I fell  
For you.”_

The drums kicked in again, and Ann crashed their lips together. Anne cradled her face in her hands, steadying Ann’s wild, demanding kiss. Ann’s hand squirmed under her shirt, nails digging into the skin of Anne’s back. The song pulsed around them, desire shifting in the air, urgency threatening to consume them both. And then Ann pulled away, her body still pressed to Anne’s but her head leaned back, her eyes studying her. Anne felt paralyzed, unsure what those wild eyes wanted from her. Ann’s voice mingled with the track again. 

_“When you’re talkin’ to your girls,  
Do you talk about me?  
Do you tell ‘em I’m your lover? That I’m all that you need?  
Do you tell ‘em white lies?  
Do you tell ‘em the truth?  
Do you tell ‘em that you love me, the way that I been lovin’ you?”_

And that was it. Anne couldn’t wait. She caught Ann’s lips and walked backwards, pulling Ann with her. Their tongues slipped together, their bodies bumping and pressing as they stumbled toward the bedroom. Except that Anne hadn’t been in the chaumière all that much, all things considered. She couldn’t remember which door was which. She’d had four drinks by now anyway, and Ann’s desperate body was taking up most of her brainpower. Which is why they found themselves in the bathroom. 

“Anne,” Ann laughed, “come on.” 

She pulled her hand out from Anne’s shirt, smoothing her collar and straightening her tie; she tried to pull Anne out, but a better idea started to take root. 

“We can,” Anne drawled, “or you can get the full Anne Lister experience and screw in the bathroom.”

Ann inhaled, tugging at her tie again. She nodded, closing the bathroom door behind her. The room was tiny, allowing no more than an inch between them. Anne pressed forward, locking Ann between her and the door. Ann looked up at her, lips parted. Bending to catch those lips with her own, Anne used one hand to cup Ann’s face, the other to slip into her panties. Ann moaned into the kiss as Anne’s fingers ghosted along her folds.

“Are you wet for me already?” Anne whispered. “Naughty girl.”

Ann keened, lifting one leg to wrap around Anne’s hip, opening herself to Anne’s touch. It was exquisite, this deliberate, rushed meeting of their bodies. Anne was so used to faceless skirts, hazy fumbles, sex like scratching an itch more than making love. But this was Ann Walker, the woman who had set up shop in her heart and never left. The woman whose breathless gasps and clenching fingers and slick essence surrounded her. The woman who begged for all of her, more, right now. The woman whose happiness, comfort, and safety now occupied the better portion of her energy. 

“There,” Ann gasped, eyes closed tight, hips lifting into Anne’s touch. “Right there.”

“Stay quiet, baby,” Anne breathed in her ear. “Somebody might hear.”

Ann bit her lip and tilted her head back, her grip on Anne’s shoulders tightening. Anne thrust into her harder, faster, deeper; she couldn’t get close enough. Ann’s thighs started to tremble, and Anne strummed her clit more quickly. With a choked gasp, Ann shuddered forward, her body shaking through her release. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Anne whispered, “let me take you home.”

Ann, still catching her breath, lowered her leg and looked up at Anne. Anne pulled away, sliding her fingers into her mouth and sucking Ann’s arousal from them. Ann’s eyes widened, her hand wrapping around Anne’s tie again, and they stumbled out of the bathroom. Next door, everything slowed down. Anne felt satisfyingly tipsy, and she could tell Ann was in a similar state, pleasantly sated from the alcohol and the orgasm. They fumbled, kissing messily, until the back of Ann’s knees hit the mattress. Anne spun her around, struggling to find the zipper on the back of her dress at first. Ann giggled, but then Anne found it, revealing all that gorgeous, pale skin. The dress fell to the floor, and Ann turned slowly to face her, looking so small and innocent in her light blue panties and bra. 

“I want to take my time with you.” Anne pushed her shoulder lightly, and Ann fell back onto the bed. “I promise I’ll be the best you’ve ever had.” 

Ann licked her lips, scrambling back toward the pillows. Anne tossed her tie over her shoulder and set about enjoying every inch of Ann Walker. She started at her calves, kissing her way up one, only to trek back down the other. Ann spread her legs impatiently, but Anne could not be hurried. She traced her tongue along Ann’s creamy thighs, hooked her fingers in Ann’s panties, tossed them to the floor. Then she came up for a kiss, a proper one. Slow and deep and sensual. Ann’s fingers tangled in her hair; Anne swirled her hips between Ann’s legs. And then she was moving lower, across Ann’s neck, along her clavicle, to her breasts. Good Lord, did Ann have fantastic breasts. Perky and soft and responsive and just right to fit into Anne’s hands. Anne continued to massage Ann’s breasts as her lips continued their descent, along her ribs, her stomach, the soft curve of her belly.

“Anne,” came the strangled plea, “please.”

Anne settled between Ann’s legs, her hands sliding down to wrap around her hips. She started slow, mindful of the rather rough treatment she’d given Ann in the bathroom. She did want to take her time, really relish the taste of Ann’s arousal on her lips, the press of her clit against her tongue. She wanted to drown in the feeling of Ann’s hips straining under her hands. She could cry at the perfection of Ann’s core clutching around her as she slid her middle finger in. Truly, she wouldn’t mind to go down on Ann Walker for hours.

Except, of course, Ann was not so patient.

“Pony,” she whined, “come on.”

“What?” Anne laughed, causing Ann to squirm at the rush of air.

“Get on with it.”

“Get on with it?” Anne laughed again. “Is that how it is now?”

“Pony,” Ann whined. “I need you.”

“I bet you do,” Anne grinned and stood. 

Ann made a choked sound of surprise, her eyes wide as they followed Anne to the nightstand. Anne toed out of her brogues, sending her trousers and boxers to the floor in one movement. 

“I’d wanted to take my time with you, my love,” Anne said as she stepped into the harness, “but you’re so bloody impatient.”

“Yes, Anne,” Ann spread her legs.

“I guess I don’t have any choice.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No choice but to fuck you.” Anne knelt between Ann’s bent legs. “Deeply and thoroughly and properly.”

“Oh God, Anne, please, I –”

Ann’s words turned into a moan as Anne trailed the strap through her arousal. There would be time, later, to savor Ann’s richness. For now, her wife needed something else, and Anne couldn’t help but oblige. 

“Getting what you wanted?” Anne asked as she slid the first inch into Ann’s center.

Ann nodded, lifting her hips as Anne eased inside of her. Anne bottomed out, and Ann moaned again, loudly, obscenely. Anne started a slow, deep rhythm, filling Ann with every stroke, her back still straight, her hands wrapped lightly around Ann’s hips. But then Ann reached up, wrapping her pale hand around Anne’s starkly black tie, and pulled Anne forward, crashing their lips together. Anne fell onto her, her hips rutting more forcefully now, their lips meeting sloppily; she slid one hand under Ann’s back, the other snaking between Ann’s body to circle her clit. It took almost nothing. Ann stretched taut, high-pitched moans tumbled from her lips, her center clenching around Anne’s cock. Anne eased her down gently, before straightening and pulling out. 

“Oh man,” Ann panted to the ceiling. “You’re good at that.”

“You always say that,” Anne laughed, standing and tugging her tie off. 

“It’s always true,” Ann rose to her knees shakily, covering Anne’s hands on her shirt, unfastening the buttons herself. “You really are tremendously good at that, my love.”

Anne laughed, unsure what to say. Ann slid the shirt from her shoulders, tugging at her bra, and then Anne was naked, save for the harness. She felt shy under Ann’s lascivious gaze. 

“Don’t do that,” Ann stroked the back of her neck.

“Do what?”

“Slump your shoulders. Like you want to hide. I want to see you.”

“This is very different from my usual bar hookups,” Anne tried to joke.

“Yes, it is,” Ann said seriously. “Would you usually – uh, keep your clothes on?”

“Yeah,” Anne’s voice was soft.

“Their loss,” Ann leaned in to kiss her gently. 

Anne grounded herself in the kiss, pushing aside her insecurity. This was Ann, she told herself; don’t act like a prick for Ann. She lost herself to the slick slide of their lips, the heat radiating between them, the tender press of Ann’s breasts against her own. Ann pulled away, studying her face. 

“You’re in a bit of a mood tonight,” Ann said thoughtfully. 

“What?”

“You’re kind of – I don’t know, melancholy. Tender. Like you think I’ll break.”

“I’ve been here before, Adney,” Anne said genuinely. “I want – you’re more than a one-night-stand. Or a quick fumble in a bathroom. I – I don't want to treat you like that. Like I'm going to forget you in the morning. I want it to be special.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ann cooed. Anne’s heart twisted at the pet name. “It is special. Every time we’re together, it’s special. And –” she broke off with a smile, “I’ve never had a one-night-stand. Or a quick fumble in a bathroom. It’s all new to me.”

The situation hit Anne with instant clarity. Of course. Ann was living this for the first time. For Anne, this was a dip into the past. For her wife, it was the fulfillment of a fantasy, of an impossible dream. Ann Walker had probably never seriously considered hooking up with a stranger in a bar; her anxiety, her agoraphobia, her past – it would never have happened. Anne could make it happen. That was special. 

“I understand,” Anne nodded resolutely. “What do you want to do?”

“I was going to ask you to – well,” Ann laughed with a blush, “to bend me over, but –”

“No!” Anne interrupted, arousal coursing through her veins, “I mean, yes. Adney, yes, let’s do that.”

Ann grinned and pecked her lips again, then turned around, hooking her feet over the edge of the bed and looking over her shoulder cheekily. She wiggled her bum, and Anne couldn’t suppress the growl in her throat. She wrapped her hands around Ann’s hips, admiring the dark, lean lines of her own hands against the soft, pale curves of Ann’s skin. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” Anne said, tracing her hand through Ann’s arousal. “I was thinking about making love to you,” Anne slid the cock between her folds, “but all you want to do is fuck.” She eased the head inside. 

Ann let out a choked cry at the intrusion. Anne pulled back a hair, then eased in deeper. They continued this dance, until Anne’s hips met the round globes of Ann’s ass. She spanked her once. Ann’s upper body fell to the mattress, her hips still raised high in the air. 

“What a dirty girl, Miss Walker,” Anne purred, thrusting evenly. “Always begging for more and harder and rougher.”

Ann’s response was muffled by the sheets. Anne slapped her ass again. 

“How does it feel?” Anne grunted. “To be fucked so well?”

Ann keened, her hips pressing back into every thrust. Anne reached one hand around to stroke her clit. 

“You were the hottest girl in that bar tonight. The moment I saw you - unh, I knew –” Anne was panting in earnest from the exertion. Her muscles burned; a bead of sweat rolled along her spine. “I knew I had to have you.”

Ann’s cries were muffled by the sheets. As much as Anne appreciated this angle, that would never do. She pulled out of Ann, quickly flipped her to her back, knelt on the bed between her legs, and thrust back in. 

“Anne!” Came the high-pitched response. Anne grinned, bending to suck at Ann’s clavicle. 

“Let me hear you,” Anne said into her skin. 

And so it began, the mixture of highs and lows, of gasps and throaty growls, of soft whimpers and wild screams that fell from the lips of one Miss Ann Walker. It was heavenly; Ann assailed her every sense. The press of her sweat-slick body, the sound of her incoherent cries, the taste of her salty skin, the sight of her heaving body, the sweet smell of sex hanging above them like a cloud. Ann’s clit slipped beneath Anne’s fingertips, her nails dug into Anne’s back, her legs clamped around Anne’s waist. And then – there it was. 

“Yes, right there, fuck, you’re so – fuck, Anne, that’s so – right – yes, please,” Ann’s mumblings grew louder and higher with every word, every stroke. “Yes, Anne, yes, yes, yes, Anne!” 

That familiar resistance as Ann’s center clenched, her legs trembled, and her release rushed through her. Anne stilled, slowly pulling away, hoisting herself to her feet, and stepping out of the harness. She stood, at the side of the bed, and stroked her own clit, as she so often had in the past. Ann panted below her, spent and flushed and gorgeous. Anne bit her lip, chasing her own release, as Ann’s eyes slid open, struggled to focus, then landed on Anne’s hand. She scrambled to sit up.

“Wait, Pony, hold on.”

“Almost there,” Anne breathed. “Then we can –”

“Anne, wait.”

Ann’s stern tone caught her off-guard, and Anne froze. 

“You’re so bloody impatient,” Ann laughed. “Come here.”

“This is the full Anne-Lister-One-Night-Stand Package. Don’t worry about me.”

“Anne, damn it. Come here.”

Anne sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Ann pressed against her back, hooking her chin over Anne’s shoulder. 

“If I get to have a one-night-stand with Anne Lister, then I want to make her come. That’s part of the package.”

Anne clicked her tongue, hesitating. Ann squeezed her middle more tightly.

“You do this thing, Pony,” she said gently, “when you’re a little uncomfortable, where you revert back to your old habits. Even though it’s me, and we’re different. You put this wall up, like, you're taking a bet that I don’t care about you, that I want you to get off on your own, that I’m like the others. And you’ve never once won that bet, my love. Okay?”

Anne nodded, pressing down the lump in her throat. 

“And sometime, we’ll talk about it more. But for now, you’re going to come back here, and I’m going to make love to my wife. Hmm?”

Anne exhaled a chuckle, then turned and caught Ann’s lips in a searching kiss. Ann was right, as usual. She saw right through Anne and her feeble defenses, even when Anne didn’t recognize them herself. These self-defensive (and self-destructive) tendencies were like reflexes, and Ann was the first person to see them for what they were. For the second time today, Anne Lister had been unhinged by the small, confounding, pink-haired woman currently pressing her back into the pillows. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you smoking,” Ann breathed in her ear as her hand trailed over Anne’s stomach. “You’re so fucking hot with a cigarette.” Her fingertips trailed through Anne’s arousal, starting soft circles over her clit. “Something about the way you stood, one arm across your chest, the other holding it to your lips. God, Pony, your fingers are so long.”

Anne chuckled breathlessly, losing herself to the sound of Ann’s voice and the persistent rhythm of her hand. She traced one hand along her spine, the other twisting in those pink locks that drove her crazy. Ann started pressing lazy kisses along her neck as she spoke. 

“You and that tie, too. My goodness. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to use it to pull you closer.” Anne gasped at a particularly firm press to her clit. “Or if I wanted you to tie me up with it.” Anne was close now, warmth spreading in her gut and along her inner thighs. “And then when you fucked me – Good Lord, Pony, wearing a strap-on and a necktie. I could come again just thinking about it.”

Everything overwhelmed Anne – the touch, the words, the memories. She shuddered through her orgasm, only faintly processing that someone was mumbling “fuck” and “yes” and “Adney.” Finally, she stilled, aware of three things: her powerful thirst, Ann’s slick body pressed into her side, and a pervading sense of peace. Ann’s love for her was all-encompassing, enduring, incomprehensible. Why or how Ann Walker appreciated the things about her that others had abhorred, Anne could never know. All she knew, as she pressed a lazy kiss to that crown of pink hair, was how intensely grateful she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to be such a sap, but I really can't help it. 
> 
> Song is "Girls Talk Boys" by 5 Seconds of Summer (from the Ghostbusters soundtrack lol). I hadn't intended to include more singing, but it seemed to fit. And it's only fair that Ann get a turn too. 
> 
> Did it feel like too much up and down? Ann had a little insecure moment, then Anne did too. I felt like we needed a little action, some tension, but then rereading it, I wasn't sure. But it's almost time to post, so here we are. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Y'all are truly so generous and thoughtful and kind in your comments. And I see y'all out there, you lurkers who never comment. Glad you're here too :)


	27. Wednesday Morning

The Listers had spent most of breakfast compiling a rather lengthy list of tasks that needed to be done around the house – install door sweeps, clean air vents, grease that squeaky hinge, rehang a crooked door. Things like that. Ann enjoyed it, in a way, watching them come together like this, so serious and collaborative. Anne and Marian didn’t bicker at all. The list was long, too; Marian had even gotten a sheet of paper to record it all. 

Ann was a bit tired this morning, and she knew her fiancée was as well. They’d stumbled back to the main house in the wee hours, whispering and giggling and leaning on each other. Ann’s plan had been a success, and her core twitched at the memory of Anne’s touch. They’d slept in this morning, Anne’s nose nuzzling into her neck as she pulled Ann closer to her chest, and only barely made it in time for breakfast. 

The meal seemed to have done Anne some good, Ann thought as she watched her hold court over the table. She was so imperious in her high-back chair, chin thrust forward confidently, teacup in hand. She wore a faded black t-shirt, incredibly small running shorts, and trainers. The light streamed in the window behind her, casting Anne’s sharp profile in shadow; Ann’s hand itched for a pencil. She had salivated at the sight of her as they dressed this morning. Anne, smug as ever, had cocked an eyebrow and pressed Ann into the cool wall of their bedroom, tossing Ann’s shorts to the floor and bringing their lips together. 

Ann had giggled into the kiss, slipping her hands under Anne’s shirt, reveling in the warmth of her skin. Anne’s hands had wrapped around her waist, tangled in her hair, massaged her breasts. She was everywhere, hands roaming languidly, hips rocking slowly. Ann couldn’t believe how badly she wanted Anne, again, despite the lingering headache, the fatigue, the dryness in her throat. Anne’s touch was like a spark to dry kindling; Ann couldn’t have stopped the flame if she’d wanted to. She was just about to suggest they forget breakfast and crawl back into bed, when Anne pulled back.

“Better go downstairs,” she husked, bending to retrieve Ann’s shorts. “I have a splitting headache.”

Ann sputtered a laugh as she finished dressing, wondering how in the world Anne could drive her crazy even when hungover. They’d slipped into their seats just in time, playing it cool even as Ann’s heart skipped a beat when Anne’s fingertips traced her forearm. The teasing had lasted only a moment, until Anne’s attention was diverted by the list-making.

“I think that’s everything,” Anne said. “Booth has his work cut out for him, hmm?” She smiled as she squeezed Ann’s knee.

“Booth?” Marian’s nose scrunched in confusion. “I don’t think these tasks can wait for Booth to come back.”

“What?” Anne said flippantly, fingers trailing along Ann’s thigh. 

“Marian’s right, my dear,” Aunt Anne cut in. “These things really should get done today.”

“What do you mean?” Anne’s hand stilled.

Marian examined the handwritten list, then held it out to her sister with a satisfied smile. 

“You don’t mean for me to –”

Marian and Aunt Anne nodded. Ann would’ve laughed, at the synchronization of their movements and the utter despair coloring Anne’s face, but she wasn’t sure Anne would appreciate that. Instead, she laid her hand over Anne’s, squeezing gently. 

“This is a lot of work,” Anne whined.

“It has to be done,” Aunt Anne said apologetically.

“It’ll take me all day.”

“My heart aches for you,” Marian said insincerely, clearing the table. 

The family shuffled out of the room, leaving Ann with her pouting Pony. She squeezed her hand again. 

“Can I help you?” She offered. “With some of those. I mean, I don’t know a lot about – well, any of it, but I could pass you your tools or –”

“No,” Anne said stiffly. “Thank you, darling, but – no, I’d better get on with it.”

Anne’s chair scraped backward roughly, and then she was gone. Ann tried not to feel too disappointed, but Anne’s cool tone stung. She chastised herself for being so clingy, reminding herself how much time they’d spent together yesterday. Anne was grumpy, she rationalized, and busy and annoyed. And that was fine. Ann could occupy herself. 

She wandered out to the chaumière, surveying the damage of the previous night. Not too bad, all things considered. She gathered the speaker, the light, the bottles and glasses. She wiped down the table, the sticky spot on the floor where she’d spilled a few drops. She pulled the furniture back to its original configuration, then flopped on the couch to munch on the peanuts and pretzels they’d never even touched. 

Last night had been a tremendous success, in her opinion. It was fun to break the mold like this, to do something a little different. She couldn’t wait until the days when she and Anne could go to a real bar, or a restaurant, or even just a park. Somewhere out in public. Ann rarely left her house in the past, but now she longed to explore with Anne. She wondered if they’d travel, where Anne would want to take her. Anne was so worldly and sophisticated; she’d been so many places already. Ann felt intimidated, but she also knew Anne loved to show her things, teach her things. How lovely, she thought, to have such a generous and handsome guide. 

She’d just about planned their trek around the world, when she realized she’d eaten all of the pretzels and most of the nuts. She hoisted herself up to finish her task, shuffling into the bedroom. The sheets were rumpled, but she wasn’t sure how to transport them back to the house without being too obvious. Surely everyone knew what they did in the chaumière, but presenting dirty laundry like that – it would be too embarrassing. She stuffed them in the very bottom of the box, piling everything else on top. She found her own panties under the bed and, blushing, tucked them into the sheets. She stowed the cigarettes in the nightstand; maybe they would smoke in bed sometime? Wasn’t that a thing people did? Ann could still smell the smoke in her hair, which she didn’t exactly love. It was worth it, though, for the sight of Anne Lister, hips jutting forward, tie loose at her throat, hair falling about her face like a lion’s mane, with those white-gray tendrils swirling around her head. Ann closed the drawer sharply.

She drew for a few hours, trying to capture the way Anne had looked last night. She struggled to get the strength of Anne’s neck, the length of her nose, the curve of her lips. Maybe Anne would pose for her, even just for a picture. Ann started imagining a painting she could make of this particular version of her wife - suit-clad, cigarette in hand; the mere thought made Ann warm. She made her way back to the house, having grown tired of sketching in that quiet hut. She wondered if Marian was free, if Elizabeth would have time for a call, if Anne had finished her chores. 

Which is how she found Anne, clad only in her shorts and sports bra, bent over a sawhorse, hacking away at something and cursing under her breath. For a moment, Ann just watched her – the way her muscles rippled under her skin, the sweat dripping down her neck, the sharp glint of the hacksaw in the sun. For the first time, Ann resented living with the Listers. If they were alone, she could jump Anne right there in the grass, grind against those sweaty thighs, sink her teeth into the thick column of her neck. 

“Hello, darling,” Ann said brightly.

Anne grunted, her arm still pumping the saw furiously. Ann furrowed her brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Working,” Anne huffed, throwing her head back and wiping her brow with the side of her arm. 

“Can I help you?” 

“No,” Anne said sharply. 

“Take a break.”

“I really need to get this done.” Anne started sawing again. 

Ann watched her for a beat, the vein pulsing in her forehead, the tension in her shoulders, the thin metal and rubber accepting the brunt of her frustration. 

“Hey, Pony, look at me,” Ann tried.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might be busy?” Anne barked. “That I might not have time for this right now?”

Ann bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, and walked slowly into the house. Anne had never really spoken to her like that; they’d had a few arguments (she thought briefly of that morning at Crow Nest), but not like this. Not when Ann hadn’t even done anything. Logically, she knew that Anne was frustrated, annoyed, grumpy. That didn’t help the ache in her chest or the lump in her throat. By the time she made it inside, she was crying openly, unable to suppress it. She tried to sneak past the family room, but Marian caught her on the stairs. 

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing, I –” Ann couldn’t draw a steady breath.

“Come on,” Marian took her arm, leading her down the hallway to an unfamiliar room.

Ann had never been in Marian’s bedroom. It was cluttered, crowded with furniture and boxes and a too-large television. Marian seemed to be a fan of online shopping, vintage clothes, and crafting supplies. She deposited Ann on the rumpled bedspread, sitting at her feet and fixing her with a questioning look. Ann tried to steady her breathing. 

“It’s Anne, isn’t it?” Marian nodded. “She is such a piece of work. I’m going to –”

“No!” Ann said quickly. “No, just leave her. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” Marian paused. “Did you have a fight?”

“No,” Ann said urgently, as if she had to prove her innocence. “She’s out there – sawing on something, and I – she just snapped at me.”

“I’m sorry,” Marian clicked her tongue. “She’s not pleased with that list, but it’s not your fault. I’ll speak to her.”

“No,” Ann said again, “she should – well, she should figure it out on her own, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Marian’s eyes brightened. “You’re absolutely right. This is her estate, after all, as she never tires of reminding us. The least she can do is replace a few things.”

Ann nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Don’t take it to heart, okay?” Marian said seriously. “If I know anything about Anne Lister, it’s that she is a real bitch when she’s frustrated.” Ann laughed shakily. “And I also know she loves you. Now tell me about your little romantic evening.”

Marian stretched out along the foot of the bed, and Ann related the PG-13 version of the previous night. Her voice grew stronger the longer she spoke, and by the time she trailed off for modesty’s sake, she felt a lot better. Marian rolled her eyes, sitting up.

“You two are nasty,” she teased. “Little love shack out in the woods.” 

“That’s what my friend Catherine said too,” Ann laughed. “It’s really my art studio.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” 

Marian winked, and Ann blushed. She couldn’t believe she was actually talking about sex with Anne’s sister. Their pleasant moment was shattered, however, by the sharp whirl of a drill. They looked at each other in question and padded to the hallway together. There was Anne, lying on one side, drilling something into the base of Aunt Anne’s bedroom door; Ann realized after a moment it was that metallic piece Anne had been sawing earlier. Marian opened her mouth to speak, but Ann squeezed her arm. Marian nodded and slipped away down the hall. Ann leaned against the wall, moving so that Anne could see her. Anne, screws clenched between her teeth, shot her a look, then continued her drilling. Ann watched her, ignoring the anxiety twisting in her gut. She wouldn’t let Anne push her away this time. 

“If you’re here to lecture me,” Anne said as she heaved herself upright, “Aunt beat you to it. I’m a fool and a jerk and I don’t deserve you.” Her voice was flat, sardonic. “Shame on me for making a nice girl like you cry. But I have two more of these to do, then fixing the Captain’s door, then the banister, apparently.” 

Anne laid flat at her own office door, removing the metal strip at the base, then replacing it with another one. Ann followed her silently, studying her. She was so tense, her movements jerky and rushed; that same vein pulsed in her forehead.

“These damned things don’t even go on interior doors, but they’re supposed to help with keeping the house cool. Spent nearly an hour hacking them down to the right size. Couldn’t find any tools. The air vents were disgusting. Every time I –” Anne was up again, moving down the hall, the words tumbling out of her. Ann could tell she wasn’t breathing.

“Anne,” she said softly. 

“What?” Anne spun around, her eyes wild. 

“Take a breath, my love.”

“I don’t have time for this! There is so much I have to –”

Ann placed her hand softly on Anne’s, easing the drill away from her. Anne sagged, her eyes closing as Ann wrapped her in her arms. She pressed her face into Ann’s neck, her body shaking. Ann could feel her warm tears on her skin. 

“It’s okay, Pony,” she soothed. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“I do,” Anne said into her neck, sobbing harder. “I do. There’s no one else.”

“I’m right here,” Ann rubbed her back.

“It’s not – it’s just – I –”

“I can help you. Hey,” Ann pulled away, trying to catch Anne’s eye. Anne buried herself further in the crook of Ann’s neck. Ann decided to let her. “It’s okay. We can do this. We can do this together. Right? Shibden is yours, but, if you want, it can be ours. You just have to let me in.”

Anne’s head moved against her shoulder, but neither of them spoke for several long moments. Ann ran her hands along Anne’s back, covered by her sweaty t-shirt. She tried to reconcile the swaggering woman of last night with the heaving mess in her arms. Even the hints of vulnerability Anne showed in the past paled in comparison to this. Anne always seemed so proud of her estate, planning for the future and crafting increasingly elaborate visions for it. Ann had never considered the stress this might cause, the pressure it put on those broad shoulders, the loneliness of being mistress of Shibden Hall. 

Eventually, Anne straightened, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Ann smiled softly, tilting her chin. Anne returned her smile, dipping her head to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She inhaled, steadying herself, then pulled the drill from Ann’s hand. 

“Would you mind helping me, Miss Walker?” Anne asked. “We have an awful lot to do around our home today.”

“Do we?” Ann grinned. 

“We do,” Anne turned her attention back to the door, passing Ann the screws. “Someone told me once that marriage should be an equal partnership. I think that’s rather nice, don’t you?”

Ann grinned, passing over each screw in time. They made their way through the rest of the tasks like this, easily and gently sharing the load. Ann wasn’t nearly as handy as her wife, but she could hold things steady, carry tools, provide snack breaks. The morning breezed by, and by the time they reached the end of Marian’s careful bullet points, all traces of Anne’s sour mood had vanished. Ann crossed off the last item as Anne stowed her drill. 

“Thank you, darling,” Anne turned to her, locking her hands together at the small of Ann’s back.

“I’m not sure how much I did,” Ann smoothed her hands down Anne’s collarbones, “but I was happy to help. And I got to watch you work in these tiny shorts,” she added cheekily.

“You’re incorrigible,” Anne squeezed Ann a little closer. “Seriously, my love. Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Ann nodded, tracing her thumb along Anne’s jawline. 

“Shibden is our home, and I – I’m going to do better about including you. Sharing things with you. I’m just not used to it. Thank you for being patient.”

Ann wanted to think of something clever to say, something poignant and meaningful and sweet. But she couldn’t. Partly because she didn’t have Anne’s way with words. Partly because she couldn’t concentrate, with the fierce way Anne was looking at her. And partly because she felt the only proper response was to stretch her neck to catch Anne’s lips with her own, melding their bodies together as their hearts raced in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The getting dressed sidebar based on this entry: "one good one last night and both asleep directly. Twenty minutes dalliance in the midst of dressing" May 17, 1834, though I will probably return to this one later and flesh it out a bit more because I loooooove it. 
> 
> Anne's tasks and frustration based on some very real home maintenance I did recently - have y'all ever replaced a door sweep? It SUCKS. They don't really go on interior doors (as Anne says), but this is what worked for the story. I am not especially handy, so apologies if it's not especially realistic.
> 
> You all are so very generous in your comments, and I can't tell you what they mean to me. Hint: it's a lot.


	28. Wednesday Afternoon

Anne thought she knew everything about the pink-haired goddess across from her. She knew how Ann took her tea, which side of the bed she favored, what shampoo she used. She could recite her favorite foods, TV shows, sexual positions. She could anticipate Ann’s hunger, lust, fatigue. Anne would wager she knew more about her wife than anyone else did. 

And yet, she could not figure out how Ann kept beating her at backgammon.

The first match had gone quickly, but Anne wasn’t paying attention. She was distracted by Ann’s eating lunch. Did she have to lick her fingers after every bite? Or bite her lip that often? Or brush her knees against Anne’s under the table? Ann seemed not to notice the effect of her actions on her partner, the way Anne tugged at her ponytail, the way she jiggled her leg under the table, the way she paused too long before her turn because she was admiring the way Ann’s shirt clung to her breasts. 

Anne inhaled and stood, walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water and some air. Weeping in Ann’s arm that morning had shaken her confidence, and she itched to reinstate it. A nice, long afternoon in bed would do the trick, but Ann had demurred. She insisted Anne come into the parlor, play backgammon, show the family they were okay. 

“You can’t solve everything with sex,” Ann had teased.

“Can’t we at least try?” Anne had pawed at Ann’s behind as she sauntered away. No dice. Ann was firm; she wanted to play backgammon, and Anne was to join her. And she did, of course. Partly in apology for her shortness earlier, and partly because she no longer had free will when it came to Ann Walker. 

They’d sat down to play, and Ann had trounced her. Almost immediately. Or perhaps the game had just flown by because Anne was so distracted. Either way, she counted that as a practice round. 

“No distractions this time, Adney,” she warned as she reentered. “I will win this one.”

“Will you?” Marian sneered, peeking around Ann’s shoulder. “Little Ann says you’re not very good.”

“I did not say that,” Ann laughed. “I said that Anne never beats me.”

“Thank you, darling,” Anne said as she sat down. “That’s so much better.”

Ann shook her head and went about reordering the gameboard. Marian was perched on the chair nearby, hovering, breathing down Anne’s neck. She’d never win like this. Telling Marian to leave, however, was tantamount to admitting she was bad at the game. No, she’d just have to focus even more. 

But even that was difficult. 

Ann was too beautiful, Marian was too annoying, the room was suddenly too small. Was there a strategy to this game? She suddenly couldn’t remember. The sunlight was streaming in at just the right angle to give Ann a pink-tinged halo. She kept stretching her legs, sliding her bare skin against Anne's. Her tongue was constantly poking out from between her lips as she concentrated. Ann’s fingers were so dainty, Marian’s voice was so shrill, and then the game was over. She’d lost again. 

“Damn!” Her head shot up, finding Ann’s eyes dancing. “You’re very good.”

“Love to see Big Anne lose,” Marian grinned on her way out of the room.

“Thanks for that,” Anne said with a rueful smile, “giving Marian something else to tease me about.”

“I’m sorry, Pony,” Ann squeezed her hand on the table. “She just came in here.”

Ann started reshuffling the checkers, her hair curtaining her face. Anne leaned back, studying her. What made her so much better at this game than Anne? She couldn’t divine any particular pattern to her movements. It just seemed to happen, effortlessly. Rather like that first day at Crow Nest, Anne thought she was in control, but she never was. Just when Anne thought she had the little woman figured out, she surprised her. She never stood a chance. By the time Anne realized what was happening, she'd already lost. 

“Marian thought we were in a fight,” Ann said to the board. “I’m glad she could see us getting along.”

“I suppose,” Anne chewed the inside of her cheek. “I don’t much care what Marian thinks.”

“I do,” Ann looked up. “I don’t want your family to think we’re fighting all the time.”

“Don’t worry, they would blame me anyway. Aunt Anne went at me for about ten minutes this morning.”

“Did she?” Ann smiled, clearly enjoying this.

“Yes,” Anne groaned. “She practically gave a litany of every ruined relationship in my past, and then listed everything that’s wonderful about you.”

“Like what?” Ann dared.

“Well, that you’re beautiful,” Anne licked her lips. “And you’re kind. And rich. And funny. And patient.”

“Is that all?” Ann smirked.

“Oh, and you’re so modest,” Anne chuckled. “She reminded me, specifically, of two instances. The first has to do with Mariana, which you may not be interested in.” Anne tried not to mention Mariana anymore, knowing it bothered Ann. The comparison was fruitless anyhow. “The second was the day I proposed to you, and I had called her in the afternoon. I wanted her advice, uh, on what to say. Today she reminded me of that conversation.” Anne twisted her ring around her index finger.

“What did you say?” Ann said softly.

“Well, uh, I guess I said rather a lot about what love means. What it means to be in love. She said I was actually getting on her nerves about it,” Anne shook her head, still focused on her ring, “because, according to her, I kept saying ‘but how will she know? How can she understand how much I love her when I don’t even understand it?’” Anne looked up and swallowed. “I kept repeating, ‘but it’s not enough. There aren’t enough words.’ She said, ‘you love her so much and you’ve just spoken to her like a pesky child. You think you’re so clever, but if you treat Little Ann like that, you’re a fool.’”

Silence stretched between them for a long beat. Ann had the strangest look on her face, and Anne wondered if she’d said too much. Perhaps this wasn’t what Ann wanted to hear, perhaps it was too much, too personal. She dropped her head to worry over her ring again. But then Ann was standing, leaning over the tiny table, biting her lip and taking Anne’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. She kissed Anne once, then twice. She pulled away, still holding Anne’s chin, then released her and sat down. 

“You should listen to your aunt,” she said softly. 

Anne grinned in relief. She hadn’t said too much. Ann didn’t mind. Just as before, the words weren’t enough, so, instead, she moved her first checker. Ann raised an eyebrow, then made her move. They continued in this careful, slow manner. 

“Think you’ll win this time, Pony?”

“Doubtful, Miss Walker,” she matched Ann’s teasing tone. 

“Pity,” Ann clicked her tongue. “To be so good at so many things, but unable to win a simple board game.”

“Ah, but who could endure a wife who possessed all perfections?” Anne quoted Juvenal. 

“I don’t know, Pony. It seems like you manage just fine.”

Anne laughed, which made Ann laugh, and soon the small room was filled with the sound of their joy. The staccato thump of Aunt Anne’s cane interrupted them.

“You girls seem to be having fun.” She patted Anne’s head as she passed.

“Miss Walker is thrashing me, as usual,” Anne studied the board, unsure how she got so far behind. 

“Good,” Aunt squeezed Ann’s shoulder as she eased into the chair next to them, “you deserve it.”

“Don’t start,” Anne warned. 

“Has she apologized?” Aunt turned to Ann.

“Yes,” Ann flushed, “she – yes, everything is fine.”

“Good,” Aunt nodded. “I do so love having you here, Little Ann. You really brighten up the whole house.”

“Thank you,” Ann said shyly. “I’m – I’m very much enjoying being here.”

“A sight better than that Lawton woman,” Aunt said dryly. Anne tried to signal her to talk about something else, but her aunt wasn’t even looking her way. “She was rather dull, wasn’t she?”

“I suppose,” Anne said quickly. “Anyway, the –”

“You two were always locked away upstairs screaming at each other, or – worse – you’d go off somewhere and leave her with us. Oh, it was awful,” Aunt was now speaking to Ann again, as if her niece weren’t in the room at all. “She was so dreary. Pouting, you know? Kind of moody, like a teenager.”

“I can imagine,” Ann chuckled. 

“Nothing like you, my dear. You, I can actually have a conversation with. Her? Forget it.” Aunt was hoisting herself up again. “And the racket those two would make in the night? Good God,” she rolled her eyes on her way out of the room.

Anne turned and watched her go, then turned back to Ann, shaking her head, caught between astonishment and hysterics. Anne turned back over her shoulder, exhaled a chuckle, then bit her lip. What was that about?

“What?” Ann laughed. “What’s that look for?”

“I don’t know why I live here,” Anne shook her head again with a smile. “All anybody does in this house is embarrass me. You won’t stop kicking my ass at this game, Marian gloats about it, and then my own aunt comes in to remind me about Mariana Lawton, of all people. All the screaming matches and disappearing acts and,” Anne paused, dropped her voice, “sex. To my wife, no less. Good Lord.”

“Oh, come on,” Ann laughed. “It’s not that bad.”

“I don’t get any respect around here.” Anne was teasing, unbothered, really, by being the butt of the joke. By the way Ann’s eyes danced, she was certainly enjoying this side of the Listers. After the way she'd treated her this morning, Anne was determined to make Ann happy by any means necessary. 

“Alright, Rodney Dangerfield.” Ann rolled her eyes. 

There was a brief silence, the only sound that of their checkers moving as the game progressed. Anne resigned herself to losing yet again. 

“Did you really have screaming matches with Mariana?”

“Yes,” Anne sighed, “all the time. It was a nightmare. We never got along. But Aunt was right about one thing – at night, well, it was different at night.”

“I can’t imagine,” Ann shook her head.

Anne wondered if she should steer away from this conversation, if it would make Ann uncomfortable. She didn’t seem bothered. In fact, she seemed curious, her head tilted to the side as she spoke. 

“I don’t know how you could scream at anybody and then – it just doesn’t seem like you.”

“To scream at someone?” Anne smiled, “I’m afraid I do that rather a lot, my love.”

“No,” Ann rolled her eyes. “Scream at someone and then – you know. Sleep with them.”

“Do you want to talk about something else?” Anne stood. “You’ve whipped me again.” She sat on the sofa. 

“No,” Ann came to sit next to her. “I’m not done talking about Mrs. Lawton.”

“Okay,” Anne inhaled. A week ago, she might not have discussed this with Ann, but after her breakdown in the hallway, Anne figured her wife had seen the worst. Ann was always pushing for equality between them, and she had shared so much of her own past with Anne. She could handle this. “It was, uh, fiery. Shall we say? Passionate. She was not exactly the woman of all hours for me. I liked her best at night.” Anne reached out and squeezed Ann’s thigh. “In bed, she was excellent.”

“You’re so…” Ann trailed off, leaning against the arm of the sofa and stretching her bare legs into Anne’s lap. She didn’t seem bothered at all. “You seem so different than you were then. I don’t think we could yell at each other and then have sex.”

“No,” Anne ran her hands along Ann’s calves, wondering how long before she could get Ann on her knee. It was a bit surreal, to discuss Mariana like this, with Ann, their teasing words stoking that familiar flame. “No, I don’t think we could. It’s just – it was totally different. Our dynamic was nothing like yours and mine.”

“No?”

“No. Mariana is a little bit older than me, you know, so in some ways I looked up to her. Idolized her. And she – she had kind of a hold over me. Which you do as well, honestly.”

“Do I?” Ann’s face broke into a wide grin. 

“Yes.” Anne squeezed her legs playfully. “Have you not noticed that I take my shoes off at the door now?”

“I have, actually,” Ann said proudly. 

“So that’s a positive – I mean, not for me, exactly, because now I lose all this time having to relace my –”

“Pony,” Ann warned.

“Right, right, no, shoes don’t belong in the house, you’re right of course.” Anne said quickly. “But even that?” She chuckled. “It’s positive. It’s about – look, with Mariana it was always things I was doing wrong. It wasn’t ‘take your shoes off, baby;’ it was ‘you’re always wearing those filthy fucking boots in my house.’ I couldn’t do anything right, and she would get so furious. Then I’d get angry too, and pretty soon we’d … well. D’you see what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Ann nodded inching closer until she was sitting in Anne’s lap. “Now I think I’m done talking about her.”

“Good,” Anne traced her hand along Ann’s spine.

“I cannot tell you what these shorts have done to me today,” Ann whispered in her ear, one arm wrapping around Anne’s shoulders and the other trailing down to her waistband. “How did they get so small?”

“They’re, uh, they’re good for running.”

“Are you a runner, Pony?” Ann’s lips ghosted over hers.

“Used to be,” Anne pressed her lips to that pale neck. 

“Your legs, God, they’re –” Ann tilted her head back. “You’re very sexy when you work.”

“Am I?” Anne let one hand wander up Ann’s thigh to the button of her shorts. 

“Yes,” Ann breathed, shifting in Anne’s lap to spread her legs wider, “when I saw you – oh,” Anne’s hand ghosted over her center. “When I watched you with that saw, I – I wanted you to –”

Ann broke off as Anne’s fingers deftly slipped into her panties and brushed across her core. Anne grinned as she stroked Ann gently, enjoying the feeling of her arousal growing; the angle and Ann’s shorts made her wrist ache, but Anne was nothing if not determined. Perhaps she couldn't always find the right words, but she could certainly express her love with her hands. The parlor was secluded enough that Anne was fairly certain they wouldn’t be interrupted. The couch faced away from the doorway, which meant Anne couldn’t see anyone approaching, but it also meant they were shielded by the high back of the couch itself. Anyone in the doorway would only be able to see their heads and shoulders. Ann’s fingers dug into her shoulder, her head dropping as Anne moved more firmly between her legs. 

“Here on the sofa, Miss Walker?” Anne whispered in her ear. “Naughty girl.”

Ann bit back a moan, as Anne slipped her middle finger inside. Anne trailed her lips along Ann’s jawline, her neck, her collarbone. It was ecstasy, this moment, taking her wife in this slow, quiet, deliberate way. In the middle of the afternoon, sunlight streaming in brightly, their family just a few rooms away. The risk of discovery only made it sweeter. Ann’s forehead pressed into her shoulder, nodding as Anne built up speed. 

“That’s it,” she soothed, “you feel so good, Adney.”

Anne twisted to catch her lips, swallowing Ann’s soft whimpers as she approached her release. Her own hips rocked in time with her thrusts, relishing the way Ann’s thighs tensed above her. Ann broke away, digging her teeth into Anne’s shoulder as she shuddered through her orgasm. Anne pressed her lips to Ann’s neck, behind her ear, along her jaw, until she stilled. Eventually, Ann straightened, cradling Anne’s face in her hands and kissing her slowly, deeply. 

“Is Little Ann still – oh God,” Marian’s sharp voice cut into their moment. “Making out on the couch now, is it?”

They shot apart, Ann blushing and sliding off of her lap. Anne turned over her shoulder, wiping her hand surreptitiously on her own thigh. Marian stood in the door way, disgust and annoyance coloring her face. Anne could have throttled her.

“Sneaking up behind people now, is it?” she shot back. 

“You’re gross.”

“I’m not gross. We’re getting married, Marian, surely you know what that means.”

“I don’t need to see that.”

“You don’t want to see it?” Anne dared, rising on her knees to face Ann and cupping her face in her hands. “I guess you’d better go then, sister dear.” 

She held Marian’s gaze for a moment, then dipped her head to kiss Ann softly. Marian sputtered in the doorway, then her footsteps faded down the hall. Anne broke away laughing. Ann struck her lightly on the stomach. 

“Anne!” She whined. “I don’t want Marian to think –”

“Relax,” Anne was still laughing. “She thought we were just ‘making out.’” Anne rolled her eyes at Marian’s word choice. “We should count ourselves lucky.”

Ann studied her for a moment, then she started laughing too. They spent the next few minutes laughing and kissing and shaking their heads. Joy bubbled around them, filling the air, drawing Aunt Anne down the hall to see what all the ruckus was. 

“It’s always noise with you, Antsy,” she appeared in the doorway. “With the other one, it was screaming. With Little Ann, it’s laughter.” She winked and thumped away.

Anne turned back to Ann, grinning so widely her cheeks hurt. Aunt Anne was right, of course. How far she had come, Anne mused as she caught Ann’s lips again. From anger and disappointment and hiding in public, to happiness and peace and giggling on the sofa. She wouldn’t recognize her old self, she realized, the one that loved Mariana. That person was a stranger, totally unknown to her. Ann had unlocked a piece of herself that she’d kept closely guarded for decades, and now, as their bodies pressed together behind the protective shield of the sofa, she came to a new conclusion. She hadn’t changed at all. She was fundamentally the same person she’d always been. Being with Ann gave her permission to be that person, as loud and boisterous and masculine as she wanted. And as she pulled away and studied the breathless, pink-hair, laughing woman below her, she saw that she’d done the same for Ann. They each allowed the other to be more of themselves. And wasn’t that the whole point anyway?

“Keep it down,” Marian said drolly as she passed the doorway again. “Can barely hear myself think.”

Ann flushed, trying and failing to stifle embarrassed laughter. Anne shook her head and rolled her eyes at her sister, before pressing a chaste kiss to Ann’s lips. She guessed some things, however, would never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Anne's Mariana comment lifted directly from the diary: "she is not exactly the woman of all hours for me. She suits me best at night. In bed she is excellent." September 28, 1823. 
> 
> The couch stuff based on "afterwards my going out put off by Miss W-'s having me near her on the sofa & being on the amoroso - so grubbled her well." May 22, 1834. 
> 
> This chapter was a lot of fun to write, but it is a bit madcap. Marian's here, then Aunt Anne, then there's grubbling - is it all over the place? What do you think?
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting!


	29. Wednesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filth. A bit of "uphill gardening" to borrow the phrase. My goodness.

Ann had been trying to work up the courage all night. She’d started by asking Anne to rub her back. Not out of soreness or anything. Just because – well, she’d been having these thoughts. She was just curious. The idea set her aflame – with embarrassment and arousal in equal measure. She’d hoped the massage would lead, as it often did, to Anne dipping lower, her tongue flicking out, to that uncommon pleasure between her cheeks. Because, if she was being honest, Ann was craving it.

She hadn’t given much thought to the act in general. Wasn’t it awfully invasive? And yet, every time Anne’s tongue slipped over her puckered hole, Ann couldn’t deny the accompanying jolt of electricity. She was just curious. That was all. They’d never talked about it, even though they both seemed to enjoy it. The next step was inevitable. Right? Ann wasn’t sure. Besides, before she did anything, she’d have to figure out how to bring it up to Anne.

Anne Lister, who contained such multitudes it made Ann’s head spin. Just today, she’d gone from snuggling in bed, to pressing Ann into the wall, to hungover, to grouchy and cold, to sobbing in Ann’s arms, to graciously losing at backgammon, to stroking Ann gently over the edge on the parlor sofa, to rolling her eyes at Marian, to cooking dinner, to snoring in unison with her father while the rest of the family laughed through a sitcom marathon. And now she was straddling her, pressing her thumbs to Ann’s shoulder blades, grinding the heels of her hands into the knots, peppering soft kisses along her spine. She didn’t say a word, only humming quietly as she worked. Ann decided to go for it – like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“I was thinking…” she started.

“Congratulations,” Anne teased, pressing her lips to the curve of Ann’s waist.

“Hush,” Ann lifted her hips from the mattress, as if to buck Anne off. Of course, she never could. Wouldn’t want to anyway. “I was thinking about something, uh – something I was interested in.”

“Alright.”

“I don’t, um, I’m – gosh, Pony, I’m a little embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Anne was now dragging her tongue across the waistband of Ann’s panties. “Tell me.”

“I’m – I don’t know how to say it.”

“You’re making me crazy,” Anne nipped her skin. “Are you going to say something dirty?”

“I think so,” Ann laughed.

“What is it?” Anne purred.

“Oh, Anne,” she sputtered, “I – I can’t – it’s too outrageous.”

“How about this?” Anne whispered in her ear. “I’ll list some dirty things, and you tell me when I hit it.”

“Okay,” Ann breathed, her heart racing at the thought. Good Lord, the list alone might be the death of her.

“Being tied up?” Anne nipped her earlobe.

“No,” Ann exhaled. “Not tonight, but maybe, uh –”

“Tying me up?” Anne’s hands slipped under her body, warm against her ribcage.

“Oh God,” Ann whined. “Definitely, but –”

“Blindfolds?” Those warms hands cupped her breasts.

“Fuck, Pony, yes, someday –”

“Is it food? Whipped cream?” Anne started a slow roll of Ann’s breasts in her hands. “Honey?”

“No, no, it’s –” Ann was growing increasingly worried she wouldn’t survive long enough to get at what she wanted to say.

“Roleplay?” Anne’s hands snuck out from below her, tracing along her hips.

“Not tonight.”

“Is it,” Anne dipped her thumbs in the waistband of Ann’s underwear, “anal?”

“Yes,” Ann breathed, her body sagging in relief at not having to say it, at Anne being so clinical, at there being no ambiguity.

“My, my,” Anne purred, pulling Ann’s panties down her legs. “That is a bit dirty.”

“We don’t have to –”

“No, please, don’t misunderstand me.” Anne was flopping to the side, her face coming into Ann’s view. “This is very exciting.”

“Really?” Ann’s face was burning.

“Yes,” Anne tucked a pink strand behind her ear. “If you’re interested in that,” her hand traced down Ann’s neck and along her spine, “I’d be interested too.”

“Okay,” Ann bit her lip, unsure what would come next.

Anne leaned in, kissing her softly, and when she pulled away, she had that fiendish grin on.

“Oh, Miss Walker, you never cease to amaze me.”

She strode out of the room, still in her t-shirt and boxers. Ann turned her head to watch her go, the long lines of her legs, the broad expanse of her shoulders, the gentle sway of her ponytail. She returned with a grin and a small bottle. A shiver ran across Ann’s spine. Anne crouched by the bed, her dark eyes searching Ann’s face.

“You’ll tell me if you want to stop.”

“Yes,” Ann breathed.

“It might be – uh, strange at first. Might even hurt a little. But then it’ll feel so good, my darling.”

“Okay.” Ann’s voice was no more than a squeak.

“You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” Anne repeated.

“Yes.” Anne kissed her. “Yes, I promise.” Anne kissed her again.

“You’ll have to be very quiet,” Anne teased as her hands resumed their massage.

“I know,” Ann sighed as Anne’s hands slid around to her breasts again, her warm body pressing against Ann’s back.

“You have,” Anne kissed her neck, “the most perfect,” her shoulder, “tits,” her spine.

“What?” Ann giggled. “Tits? Pony, really.”

“You’re so tense, my love,” Anne’s hands continued their slow roll. “I wanted you to laugh.”

“I haven’t got much of a chest anyway,” Ann was still giggling.

“I disagree,” Anne was now teasing her nipples. “I could hardly focus on that game today, because of your chest.” Anne emphasized the last word playfully.

“I’d always thought,” Ann’s breath hitched, “they were rather small.”

“Nonsense,” Anne nipped at her shoulder blade. “You know what I’ve always heard – anything more than a handful’s a waste.”

Ann laughed now, really and easily. Tension eased from her body as Anne shook with laughter above her. Anne was rather ridiculous, wasn’t she? But Ann was relaxed now, moaning softly as Anne’s hands slipped lower, between the sheets and her torso. Her fingers slid along Ann’s ribs as her thumbs rubbed gentle circles on her back, continuing their descent. They reached the tops of Ann’s legs, her thumbs slipping into those divots at the small of Ann’s back.

“Pass me a pillow, darling,” Anne whispered.

Ann fumbled, grabbing a pillow and tossing it behind her. She heard a soft thud and Anne’s chuckle.

“You didn’t have to hit me in the face,” Anne squeezed her hips.

“Did I? Oh no, Pony, I’m sorry.”

“I’m only kidding,” Anne lifted Ann’s hips. Ann bent her knees, her body bending at the most wanton of angles. “You’re so gorgeous,” Anne said so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

The pillow slid below her hips, and then Anne’s mouth was on her. On the small of her back, on the curve of her ass, on the tender underside of her thigh. She was gentle, methodical, patient. Ann felt arousal building in her gut, between her legs. Anne must have noticed, too, because soon she was pressing featherlight kisses along Ann’s folds. Ann closed her eyes and moaned.

“Have to be quiet, Adney,” Anne whispered, her breath hot against Ann’s sensitive skin.

Ann bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress the groans and whimpers building in her throat. As Anne’s tongue dragged up her slit and between her cheeks, Ann buried her face in the sheets. It was too much, too good, too everything. As in the past, Anne flicked her tongue over Ann’s puckered hole, gently at first, then with more intention. Her hands rhythmically kneaded Anne’s ass. Her soft hums sent reverberations all the way up Ann’s spine. Ann sunk her teeth into the pillow below her head in a vain attempt at stifling the sounds attempting to escape her lips. She felt her cheeks spread wider and Anne’s tongue press harder, and then – Anne had slipped just the tip of her tongue inside.

“Fuck,” Ann whimpered, the sensation so novel and dirty and excellent. She could see them from above, Ann with her behind high in the air, and who was that buried between the pale globes of her ass? Anne Lister: published author, university professor, landed gentry. Licking and sucking along Ann’s tight hole. “Fuck,” she breathed again.

“I intend to,” came the voice behind her.

And then Anne’s hand was on her center, slipping through her dripping arousal, teasing her aching clit. Ann heard a click behind her, then a pause, then Anne’s other hand was sliding between her cheeks, covered in something warm and wet. Here it comes, Ann thought.

“Relax, baby,” Anne purred, her hands still massaging Ann’s most sensitive parts. “We can stop if you want.”

“No! No, no, keep going.”

“Eager, are you, baby?” Ann sighed at as Anne eased a single finger in her core. “Sometimes, Miss Walker, I do wonder if I can ever satisfy you.”

Ann’s chuckle turned into a whimper as Anne slipped in a second finger, starting an even rhythm between her legs. Anne shifted so the thumb of the same hand applied warm, steady pressure along the cleft of her ass, but nothing more. The room filled with the slick sounds of Anne’s movements, the sheet-muffled whimpers, and the steady beat of Ann’s heart. She was certain Anne must be able to hear it. Hell, Marian probably could probably hear it down the hall, loud as it was. Arousal coursed through her veins, sending her hips back into Anne’s thrusts and her teeth into the soft down of the pillow. She felt Anne’s fingers curve and spread inside of her, heard her own slick arousal sloshing and squelching, shivered as Anne’s free hand wrapped around her hip. Normally, these sounds halfway embarrassed her, but tonight they drove her mad with want. Anne’s fingers twisted within her, her thumb swiping across Ann’s other hole.

“You feel so good,” Anne soothed. “Are you ready, my love?”

Ann nodded into the pillow.

“Can’t hear you,” Anne squeezed her ass. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Anne,” she panted, “yes, please.”

“Relax, baby.”

And she did – at the pet name, at the easy build between her legs, at Anne’s soft, low voice. Her muscles sagged in relief as the tension left her, just in time for the tip of Anne’s slick thumb to slide inside. She choked, unable to breathe for a beat, and then the intruder was gone. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but she certainly wished Anne would do it again.

“So good,” Anne sounded out of breath. “You feel so good.”

Ann whimpered as the thumb returned, a little deeper now. It was strange, though not unwelcome; Ann still couldn’t decide what to think. Anne’s dexterous fingers never faltered, and, for a brief moment, Ann felt ecstasy at being filled in both places. Okay, yeah, she thought, this is it. Slowly, Anne danced in and out, a little more each time, until Ann was certain her thumb must be a mile long.

“How is that?” Anne breathed behind her.

“It’s – oh, Pony, it- it’s good.”

“Is it?” Ann could hear the grin on her wife’s face as she eased out.

“Yes,” Ann whimpered, “put it – please, Pony, do it again.”

“If you insist,” Ann purred.

There it was – Anne filled her completely. Everywhere. Ann whimpered into the pillow, her arousal building to an impossible level. The pressure in her center, between her cheeks, within her gut – it threatened to overwhelm her. Anne thrust more forcefully in her core, gently shifting in her tight hole, while her other hand trailed over Ann’s hipbone and slid over her clit. It was like Anne’s hands were made to cover her body. Anne’s hips pressed into her backside.

“You were made for this, my love,” Anne panted. “You feel so good. You’re so tight. You’re so – unh, so wet – Adney, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Ann was no longer capable of speech; she was barely able to form thoughts. She stood at the edge of an ocean, watching the crest of her release race toward her. Her thighs started to shake as the first wave lapped at her feet. The pressure on her clit increased; the wave rose higher. Anne’s low voice continued behind her, but she couldn’t parse the words. The wave rushed past her – she was about to lose her footing. Anne’s thrusts were sharper now, deeper, the wave pulling her out into the undertow. She was warm – Anne’s hands were everywhere – the wave flattened her. Her world went white – the white of the pillow caught between her teeth, her white hands twisting in the sheets, white-hot pleasure shooting through her veins.

And then she was empty, gasping, on her back. She twisted her head; Anne was scribbling in her journal. She turned, grinning and snapping it closed.

“And how are you?” She asked conversationally, as if they were acquaintances bumping into each other on the street.

“Pony,” Ann exhaled, rolling onto her side, “that was incredible.”

“Was it?” Anne preened, running her hand along Ann’s thigh.

“You said something…”

“Did I?”

“About me being made for that.”

“That’s the way it felt to me,” Anne answered softly. Ann wondered, for a moment, if she was shy about having said this.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“That you were made for me?” Anne was failing to repress her smile.

“No,” Ann swung a leg over Anne’s lap. “That it was the other way around – you were made for me.”

Anne laughed and kissed her. Ann rocked in her lap for a few beats, hands tangling in hair, tongues sliding past lips, soft moans caught in throats. Then she trailed her hands lower, to the waistband of Anne’s boxers, shifting so that she could tug them off. Anne leaned further into the pillows, licking her lips and quirking an eyebrow.

“Did you –” Ann wondered.

“I waited for you,” Anne husked.

And that was everything – just yesterday, Anne had put up that old wall, initially refusing Ann’s touch in favor of her own. Now, she had waited. Waited for Ann to recover, to touch her, to love her. Ann smiled as she brought their lips together, a different kind of warmth suffusing her body. The warmth of trust, of security, of the future.

“I love you,” she whispered, sliding down Anne’s body to kiss her jaw, her neck, her t-shirt-clad sternum.

Anne murmured above her, as Ann shifted her t-shirt up so that she could drag her tongue over the smooth plank of her stomach. She grinned against her skin as Anne’s abdominals tensed under her ministrations. She nipped at the protruding hipbone before settling fully between those strong, lean legs and lifting them over her shoulders.

“Ann,” came the first moan as her tongue made contact with Anne’s center. Then it was a string of quiet expletives, interlaced with “please” and “God” and “yes.” As Ann focused increasingly on Anne’s clit, moans turned to whimpers, and soft fingers twisting in hair turned to vise grips. Ann’s hands roamed that firm stomach, over hips and across ribs and along sides. Finally, as the thighs around her ears started to tense, Ann heard her own name, over and over again. There was nothing better than this, Ann vowed. One last firm stroke of Anne’s clit, and she was shuddering, hips bucking into Ann’s mouth, fingers pulling at her hair, lips forming her name like a prayer.

And then it was over, Anne’s body deflating in relief, Ann easing those tired thighs back to the sheets and rolling out of bed in search of pajamas. She had been meaning to do laundry, and now she had no clean shirts to sleep in. Damn. She looked around Anne’s cluttered side of the adjoining-room-turned-closet, wondering if she’d do just as well to sleep naked. That’s when she saw it – Anne’s discarded shirt, the white one. Oh yes, she thought, this will work well.

“What are you doing?” Anne panted as her sweats landed on the bed.

“Getting ready for bed,” Ann said innocently, fastening the middle buttons.

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” Anne shuffled into the sweatpants.

“This shirt smells like smoke, Pony,” she purred as she slipped into bed, “and liquor and sex and you and me.”

“I’ll say it again,” Anne flipped onto her side, “you’re trying to kill me.”

Ann smiled and kissed her teasingly.

“We’re going to get you some new clothes, how about that? And soon.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Anne clicked off the light and wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, darling, but they’re all the same color.”

Anne laughed, pulling Ann closer to her chest.

“I’ll pick you out something a little brighter, how’s that?”

“Do you know,” Anne’s voice was low in her ear, “Aunt once asked me what I wanted in a partner. Why was I so picky? What was I waiting for? I said, rather simply, I wanted someone with me that I need not be ashamed of, to choose my clothes and everything else.”

“Is that all?” She toyed with Anne’s hands over her belly. “And all morning you had me passing you screws and holding your drill.”

“You can hold my drill anytime, baby,” Anne’s hips pressed into her backside.

“No more, Pony,” she laughed. “I think I’ve had enough, hmm? Good night.”

Anne hummed her agreement, and her soft breathing tickled the back of Ann’s neck. The multitudes of Anne Lister struck her once again. Was this how everyone felt when they fell in love? Completely astonished to find one person who encompassed so many things? Who was their protector and their annoyance and their lover and their favorite backgammon opponent? To find one person who could be all of these things – it just didn’t seem possible. And yet, as Ann drifted to sleep, those strong arms enfolded her. Anne’s warm breath brushed across her skin. Her ring sat on Ann’s finger. Anne was real. She was all of those incredible things, and she loved Ann anyway. She was real. And she was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> You can thank VerseTop for this suggestion. I, of course, am too pure of heart to have such dirty thoughts ;)
> 
> I truly almost lost this chapter, because my computer is ancient and I hadn't backed anything up. Thankfully, God and Anne Lister intervened from on high, and made sure we got our filth on this glorious Sunday. 
> 
> Diary excerpts: "She must have [had] some man or other - I can never satisfy her" November 25, 1832. "I want someone with me that I need not be ashamed of - I feel this every day - to choose my dress, etc." October 4, 1824.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting. Your comments mean the world to me, and they really do help me to write more and better.


	30. Thursday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: very sad at the beginning. Alcoholic parents, dead siblings, crying Anne Lister. Rough. I promise it turns around by the end, but just in case you're not in the headspace for something like that, look for the double space between paragraphs - it gets better after that (just sappy).

Perhaps it was the smoky, stale smell of her shirt wrapped around Ann’s slim frame. Perhaps it was the faded photograph she’d stared at while cooking, the one she normally avoided. Perhaps it was the discussion of Mariana that afternoon. Either way, Anne dreamed about her mother. And Sam. And John and little tiny Jeremy. Ghosts, all of them. While she could usually push them away during the day, she couldn’t keep them from her dreams. 

Anne was thoroughly religious. Staunch C of E. Though most priests were dull, many had dirty fingernails, and very few interpreted the Scripture in the same way she did, she did attend church regularly. She believed in the words of the Gospel. She was certain that her deceased family members had passed on to eternal rest. So why did they keep showing up here? 

She woke with a start, from a dream in which her mother, cigarette dangling from her lip and scattering ash, had been drunkenly berating her for something or other. Anne was a child, running away, but just as she thought she’d reached safety, she saw her mother again. Waiting for her. Only now, this wasn’t her mother. It was Mariana. Young Mariana, in the same tight skirt and skimpy top she’d favored when they first met. Then Mariana was screaming, listing Anne’s failures. And Anne was running again, only to find Sam, John, Jeremy - dead, dead, dead. And now her mother and Mariana joined forces, their voices twining together, twisting with the plumes of smoke above their heads; they reminded her: she hadn’t saved them. Any of them. She couldn’t. In the dream, Anne coughed, gagging on the smoke billowing around her, choking on regret and fear and the past.

Her heart raced as she readjusted to reality. Ann had shifted on her back, but Anne was still wrapped around her. Now, Anne’s nose pressed against her clavicle, one arm crushed beneath the pillow, the other flung haplessly over her middle, her left leg sweaty and slick between Ann’s. The sharp green numbers of the nightstand clock shone in the dark room - 2:07. Not late enough to get up. She pressed her face deeper into Ann’s chest, trying to find that unique scent that was only Ann’s. Instead, she was assaulted by stale smoke and sour liquor. She pressed harder, closing her eyes, trying to banish the echoing voices in her head. It was a dream, she reminded herself. Dreams don’t mean anything. 

But they did, of course. Anne had read a few books on the subject - out of curiosity, nothing more. She didn’t have recurring nightmares. Sometimes she just had the same dream more than once. Not a big deal. She knew that dreams were expressions of subconscious fears, that they could be interpreted to help analyze buried emotions, and she also knew that placing any sort of importance on dreams was ridiculous. She wouldn’t do it.

Tonight, however - or, this morning, in fact - she allowed herself to feel those fears. She allowed herself to think about the tragedy of her mother’s life, the inherent unfairness of her brothers’ deaths, the crushing toll it took on her as an adolescent. She felt tears welling in her eyes, and she didn’t even stop them. She couldn’t, not if she wanted to keep holding Ann. And she did. As the fear washed over her, Ann’s soft, warm body was her safe haven. The only sandbar in a wide, rough sea. She hung on for dear life, tears falling freely under the cover of darkness. 

She wasn’t sure at what point Ann woke up. She hadn’t snored once since Anne woke up, but she also hadn’t spoken. Anne thought she was still asleep, until she felt a warm hand slip under her t-shirt and rub circles on her lower back. 

“What is it?” Ann asked softly.

“It’s nothing,” Anne buried her face in the crook of Ann’s neck. She knew she should roll over, at least to her own side of the bed,or, better, get up and go to the bathroom to get ahold of herself. But she couldn’t. 

“You’re crying, love,” Ann scratched her scalp. “What’s happened?”

Of course, Anne could never tell her why she was crying. Why she was sobbing now at the show of affection. The significance of nails brushing along her scalp and the comfort it brought her. She couldn’t. Ann would be horrified. She wouldn’t want to be with a grown woman with mommy issues. 

“Nothing,” Anne repeated, pressing her lips to Ann’s neck. 

The taste of Ann’s skin overpowered the smell of the shirt and the lingering memories of the dream. Anne moved to her clavicle. Even better. She nosed her way across Ann’s collarbones, pushing away the dreams, the ghosts, the smoke. Her hand unbuttoned the shirt, almost entirely of its own accord, and then the smell was nearly gone. She’d almost vanquished it. She dragged her tongue across the skin between Ann’s breasts - so pale, in the moonlight, it almost shone. It was working, she thought; if she could focus on Ann for long enough, the demons from her past would disappear. Her lips brushed over the swell of Ann’s breast, closing around her nipple, suckling gently. She lost herself in this primal moment, in the intimate connection of their bodies, the gentle peace flowing from Ann's breast into her mouth. The overt connection between this action and motherhood? Anne refused to acknowledge it. 

“Anne, please,” came the voice above her, which Anne took as desirous, urging her to move lower. This, she could handle. Making love was one of her strongest suits, a surefire way to clear her head, a guaranteed confidence-builder. Burying herself between Ann’s legs for a few hours would wash away these memories without a doubt. She shifted, attempting to move lower. “Stop,” came the voice again. Anne froze. 

“What’s going on?” Ann asked softly. 

“Can’t I make love to my wife?” Anne whispered into her chest, hoping her words would disguise the quaver in her voice and the tremble in her hands.

“Not when you’re upset like this,” Ann stroked her hand along Anne’s arm. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Anne thought about it. She debated. Weighed the pros and the cons. 

_Pro: this was the kind of thing one should share with one’s partner._  
Con: showing this much weakness was terrifying.

_Pro: Ann might have good advice._  
Con: Ann might think she was weak.

_Pro: Ann had never judged her in the past._  
Con: Anne had never shared something so dark. 

_Pro: if she told Ann -_

“Pony,” Ann interrupted her thoughts. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“I had a bad dream,” Anne said softly. She felt like a child, and she was about to tell Ann to forget the whole thing, when Ann cooed softly above her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I used to have night terrors. I always felt better when I talked about it.”

Anne considered this. Ann did have experience with this kind of thing. Maybe she would have good advice after all. Maybe she wouldn’t be totally disgusted and horrified. Here under the cloak of darkness and the warm circle of Ann's arms, it seemed like it was worth a shot. 

“It was about my mother.”

“Okay,” Ann said gently.

“She was, uh, she was drunk.”

“She drank a lot, right?”

“Yes,” Anne tightened her grip around Ann’s waist, grounding herself. “Not so much when I was really young, but definitely after Jeremy died.”

“Who?” Ann’s fingers loosened her ponytail, stroking her hair. 

“My youngest brother. I was ten. He was really sick, and - well, he only lived a few months. Mother had - she’d always liked to drink. But before that, it was fun. She was funny and lively and dancing. Afterward…”

“Right.”

“It was constant. I used to try to get up really early, just to see her before her first drink. Sometimes, if her headache wasn’t so bad, she would make me breakfast. Just me and her. Sam was - I guess he was eight or nine. John had just turned seven, right after Jeremy - well. And Marian, she was a toddler. So I was in charge a lot. We had a nanny, a string of them in fact, but they had a hell of a time.” Anne chuckled at the memory. 

“Were you a naughty child?” The tiniest suggestion of a smile colored Ann’s voice.

“Not as a rule,” Anne said thoughtfully. “I just liked doing things that I wasn’t allowed to do. Not because I wasn’t allowed to do them, but - well, because all the best things are usually forbidden.”

“Of course,” Ann chuckled. “Was that it - were you having breakfast with your mum in your dream?”

“No,” Anne said softly. “She was drunk. She was screaming at me. I was running.”

“Pony,” Ann breathed, her voice pitying and sad. Anne swallowed dryly. 

“I used to ask her, when I saw her reach for the gin, ‘don’t go, please don’t go away.’ Isn’t that foolish? She always did. She’d be there, in the room with us, but she was gone. As soon as she took the first sip.”

“Where was your father?”

“Lord knows,” Anne smiled bitterly. “Always off on some assignment or other, army nonsense. I never paid attention, because it didn’t matter. He was always going away. He could’ve stayed, but he didn’t.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“I’m sure he did,” Anne rolled onto her back, her stomach twisting at Ann’s defense of the indefensible. 

“Is it difficult,” Ann turned to her, “having him here in the house?”

“No,” Anne shook her head at the ceiling. “It’s been so long - so many other things have happened - it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“In my dream, my mother turned into Mariana. How fucked is that?”

Ann said nothing. Anne bit her lip, studying the darkness above her. 

“I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t love me enough to stay,” her voice sounded choked, distant. “My parents. The rest of my life was the same - this constant spinning of people in and out. Father, Mother, John, Sam, Eliza, Tib, Mariana, Sibella, Mariana, Nants, Maria, Tib, Mariana, Vere, Tib, Mary, Mary, Mary.” She was crying again, big, round tears streaming across her face; her breath came in sharp, hiccuping gasps. 

“Anne.” It was no more than a whisper, and then Ann was enfolding her again. 

She slipped one arm under Anne’s shoulders, and Anne couldn’t stop herself from tumbling into her embrace. She clung to Ann Walker as sobs wracked her body, shame welling up inside of her at this blatant show of weakness. Ann said nothing, only cradling her head in one hand, the other splaying across her back to press Anne firmly into her chest.

For the first time in years, Anne didn’t know how much time passed.

Her breath had evened out, her eyes had run out of tears, her heart had resumed its normal, steady pace. She tilted her head to catch Ann’s gaze. Those blue eyes showed concern, sadness, love. Anne spoke without thinking.

“Don’t hurt me.” Her voice quavered. “I’m not as strong as you think.”

Ann blinked back at her, teetering on the edge of a nod.

“Well, I am, obviously.” Anne caught herself, and Ann let out a soft laugh. “But sometimes I’m not.”

Ann smiled genuinely now, her chin tilting forward. Anne brought their lips together, softly, and then, turning her head, she moved to deepen the kiss. Ann let her, for a moment, but then she was pulling away, pressing Anne back into the curve of her neck. 

“My father liked to drink, too,” Ann said quietly, stroking Anne’s hair again. “And shout. I used to wish he would go away, but now…” she paused thoughtfully, “now I see that would have been just as bad.”

“Ann.” Like a plea, like a prayer. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother John. That was my brother’s name, too.”

“Yes.” Anne could tell Ann was shifting the conversation intentionally. She tried not to see the John of her dreams, the one she’d found that afternoon. “He was a show-off, always trying to get attention, be the loudest and the smartest and the funniest.”

“So it’s genetic,” Ann teased.

“Suppose so,” Anne chuckled, eyes still trained on the slope of Ann’s neck. “He - there was an accident. Fifteen. I thought -” she caught herself, trying to steady her breathing. “I thought after he died, God wouldn’t take anyone else from me.”

Ann didn’t say anything, just kept up her gentle strokes across Anne’s back and through her hair. Anne’s jaw twitched, struggling to keep the sobs at bay. She inhaled shakily. 

“Tell me about Sam,” Ann said quietly. 

Anne hesitated. Sam was hers, her most favorite person, her greatest loss. She never wanted to share him in life; even now, she resisted reminiscing. It was usually too painful. But tonight, in the safe cocoon of Ann’s arms, having bared her heart already, images of her brother flooded her mind. She felt that deep, aching loss at not being able to see him, talk to him, share her life with him. 

“I should have liked to meet him,” Ann offered.

“I think you would have liked him,” Anne started. “He would’ve loved you. Always chasing blondes, that one.” She chuckled, and Ann did too. Then she was off, recounting story after story. The time they’d switched clothes and tricked their family for nearly an entire day. All those mornings learning to fence. Teaching him to drive, just as she’d taught Ann. A few times, she thought Ann was asleep, but then the fingers in her hair would pick up again, or she’d laugh appropriately, and Anne knew she was there with her and Sam. Her eyelids grew heavy, her words slow, and she felt the warm blanket of sleep drawing over her. 

“It’s okay, Pony,” Ann soothed. “Go to sleep. I’m right here.”

And then it was morning. Sunlight streamed weakly through the window. Ann had shifted in the night, her back now pressed to Anne’s front. Anne licked her lips, trying to rouse herself, and it all came back. The dreams. Weeping openly in Ann’s arms. Talking about Sam. She felt a twinge of embarrassment. That was all one thing under the cover of darkness, but here, in the morning light, she felt exposed. They had nearly an hour before breakfast; she pulled Ann closer, relishing the feeling of the smaller woman in her arms, grateful that they’d shifted back into their customary roles. She appreciated the times when Ann allowed her to fall apart, but she felt better when she was in control. Maybe, once Ann woke up, they could -

“Good morning,” Ann’s sleepy voice came over her shoulder, her head turning to meet Anne’s gaze. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well,” Anne pressed their lips together, “thank you.”

“Me too,” Ann yawned, rolling onto her back.

“Thank you,” Anne said meaningfully, shifting to hover over her wife. “For -”

“Don’t thank me, darling,” Ann tucked a hair behind her ear. “I’m happy to do it.”

Anne studied her for a moment, tilted her head, then dipped to kiss her. This time, when she deepened it, Ann’s hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. Anne’s leg fell between Ann’s, grinding gently, their bodies moving in sync for several, long moments. Then Anne sat back on her heels, straddling Ann’s thigh, smiling as she unfastened the buttons on that blasted shirt. Ann sat up, tossing it to the floor, then catching Anne’s lips again. Her hands tangled in Anne’s hair, ran along her neck, dug into her shoulders; Anne held her close, as if, with enough force, she could press their bodies into one. Ann was making those soft whimpers, the ones that made Anne crazy, so she pressed her back into the pillows, running her hands along Ann’s clavicle, breasts, shoulders. This was it, the feeling she craved. Being with Ann, it was like comfort food, like a warm bath, like coming home. 

“Pony,” Ann breathed as Anne took her breast in her mouth, a string of soft moans and whimpers as Anne teased and licked and sucked. Then she was on to the other, relishing the effect on the woman below her. Ann’s hands were everywhere - in her hair, twirling her own nipple, fisting in the sheets. And then Anne moved lower, across Ann’s soft belly, over her hipbones, to the very core of her. “Yes,” Ann sighed at the first pass of her tongue. 

Anne’s confidence built steadily, in tandem with Ann’s release. Every gentle moan corresponded to another link in Anne’s armor. Her wife’s lightly bucking hips reminded Anne of her strength. Ann’s urgent tugs at her hair filled Anne with vitality. In accepting her touch, Ann helped her put herself back together, stroke by stroke, piece by piece, love by love. By the time Ann’s orgasm raced through her, spilling a jumble of whimpers for “Pony” and “yes” and “right there,” Anne felt that wide grin spreading across her face again. 

The balance of power between them shifted almost constantly, and sometimes that scared her. Anne wasn’t sure who she would be if she wasn’t tough, swaggering, butch. There were sides to her that were tender and soft and easily broken, and these she guarded closely. Ann Walker, however, toppled all her defenses and walked right through like the Trojan Horse, scores of tiny, supportive gestures stored within her, ready to lay siege to Anne’s stronghold. Ann was Achilles, strong and moody and beautiful, and she laid waste to Anne’s Paris, flashy and vain and foolish. Or perhaps Anne was Hector - old-fashioned, duty-bound, martyr for a cause. Perhaps she’d been reading too much Virgil lately. 

Anne was wrenched from her musings by the gentle pull of Ann’s hands at her shoulders, tugging her forward until she was hovering over Ann’s face, bringing their lips together again and again. All thoughts of dead languages and fallen heroes were lost to the tender slide of Ann’s fingers into her sweats, tracing through her arousal. She dropped to her forearms, grinding into Ann’s touch, burying her face in the crook of that neck that had given her so much comfort in the night. Perhaps it was that feeling of security. It might have been the incredible feeling of bringing Anne to orgasm. Or maybe Ann was just getting really, really good at this. Either way, she was shuddering, gasping, rutting into Ann’s hand.

“There you are, Pony,” Ann breathed in her ear. “I’ve got you, do you know that? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Come for me, Pony,” Ann pressed more firmly; “I’m right here, come on.”

How could she deny Ann anything?

Anne shattered, desperate curses falling from her lips as Ann coaxed her gently over the edge. She collapsed, finally, onto the warm haven of her wife’s body. Ann’s hand eased out of her sweatpants, her lips pressing to Anne’s cheek as she caught her breath.

“I love you,” Anne breathed as she flopped onto her back.

“I love you,” Ann grinned. “I’m going to shower. Alone,” she emphasized when Anne quirked her eyebrow. “Or we’ll never make it to breakfast. And I’m starved.”

Anne laughed as she watched Ann’s pale form saunter to the bathroom, her hips swaying gently, her back still flushed, her hair a wild, pink halo. She waited for the inevitable fall-out, for the shame, for the fear. It never came. Anne had thought that touching Ann would restore her strength, remind her who she was, push away her insecurities. It had worked in the past, this lovemaking as an ego salve. She could bottle up her negative emotions with every thrust of her hips, stroke of her hand, pass of her tongue, and she would find contentment and validation in the satisfaction in her lover’s eyes. Today, however, in the cool light of the morning, that buried bottle of fear was empty. Ann had let her dredge it up, unleash its contents, and hadn’t pulled away. She’d brought Anne closer, stroked her hair, and listened. Not just listened, she’d made love to Anne; she still wanted her, even after seeing her vulnerabilities. Anne thought she could reestablish her confidence by touching her wife, but in truth, it was Ann’s hands on her skin that healed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof, okay, this whole chapter based on a lovely, detailed comment from Frutloops (I hope I did it justice). I'm feeling a little vulnerable with this one, since it's so emotional. Y'all are such steady readers and so generous in your feedback, I feel like I can take this risk. Hell, we've been through so much together already. That said, please let me know honestly what you think! 
> 
> Fruitloops had mentioned specifically that moment of Anne at Ann's breasts, and I was turning it over in my head as I formulated this chapter, trying to figure out if I thought it worked for Anne's character. And then I found this entry while reading No Priest But Love: basically Anne is trying to get all up in Maria Barlow's shirt, and Mrs. Barlow is like "hold up." And then, Anne writes, "I said my mother had nursed me when my sister was born. She had too much milk. I liked it exceedingly" (November 17, 1824). So...yeah... it worked for Anne. I won't doubt you again, Fruitloops. There truly is a diary entry for everything. 
> 
> Big shoutout to Jeremy Lister's Wikipedia page for helping me with the ages for Anne and her siblings. Couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> Anyway, gosh, stop talking!! I think now I'm done making Anne Lister cry. The next chapters are STRICTLY fluff and smut. Promise. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought.


	31. Thursday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we now return to our regularly scheduled programming:

“I’ve twisted my ankle,” Anne announced as she hobbled into the parlor. 

Ann had drawn away from the family, after lunch, to draw and process Anne’s words in the night. She had intended to go to the chaumière, but as soon as she sat down to reorder her pencil box, Argus had hopped onto the sofa and snuggled into her side, his shaggy head in her lap. She couldn’t disturb him. That was unthinkable. Instead, she’d spent the better part of the last hour scrolling through her phone and stroking his wiry fur. 

And now Anne was yanking him to the ground by the collar. Attempting to, at least.

“Argus,” she groaned, “off.”

He didn’t even look at her. 

“Leave him alone,” Ann cooed, stroking his furry head. “What’s happened to your ankle?”

“Screwed it up,” Anne sighed, falling into the far side of the couch, Argus a grey barrier between them. “Stepped in a hole from one of the hedges.”

“Why were you digging up hedges?” Ann had told her wife to leave the bloody things alone.

“Needs doing,” Anne said quietly, pressing an ice pack to her ankle. She huffed, unable to get the angle right. Ann, sighing, nudged Argus to the floor.

“Let me.” She took the ice from Anne’s hand, tugging at her knee until the older woman twisted to lean against the arm of the couch, stretching her legs into Ann’s lap. “You shouldn’t have been out there. You about tore your skin off last time.”

“I just want to finish.” Anne fiddled with the hem of her dirty t-shirt, looking like a scolded child. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Ann teased, pressing the ice gently to Anne’s ankle. Anne hissed at the contact. “Perhaps Aunt will let you borrow her cane.”

Anne laughed and rolled her eyes. Ann ran her free hand along Anne’s bare skin, up to the fraying hem of her shorts. They sat in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Ann enjoyed the firm pressure of Anne’s legs in her lap, pleased for a reason to force her wife to sit still. 

“Do you remember last night?” Anne said quietly.

“Good Lord, Pony, yes,” Ann chuckled. “Which part?”

So much had happened in the time between when they’d entered their bedroom last night and when they’d left this morning. Beautiful, dirty, lovely, moving things. When she was alone at Crow Nest, Ann often could not tell the days apart, an endless stream of identical hours passed without notice. At Shibden? Every moment was an inexplicable delight. She felt more in an hour with Anne and her family than she had in weeks on her own. Yes, she remembered last night. 

“When I was rubbing your back,” Anne was still speaking slowly, quietly, “I mentioned a few things.”

“Yes.” Ann dragged her fingernails lightly over the tan skin of Anne’s leg.

“And you seemed interested.”

“I was. I am.”

“I was thinking, then, if we might - well, if we might make a list.”

“What?” Ann smiled, seeing where her aggressively Type-A wife was headed.

“Well, I thought we could make a list of things we would like to - uh - to try. And then we could work our way through them.”

“And then what, Pony? We’ll finish the list and…” she trailed off with a smirk and raise of her brows. “We’ll have accomplished sex? Strike it off the list? Never have to bother with it again?”

“No!” Anne said quickly; her face was so stricken and serious Ann nearly laughed. “No, just - we could talk about what we wanted to do, and then - then if we needed some inspiration…” Anne nudged Ann’s side with her knee.

“You’re saying you’re bored with me?” The teasing was in full force now. Ann loved to see her wife’s fearful surprise when she even hinted their sex life was lacking. She thought briefly of the time she’d suggested they shagged too much; Anne had been so worried. 

“No, Adney, no, please, I -” Anne paused, her eyes narrowing. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Me?” Ann said with mock outrage. “How could you say that?”

“Anyway,” Anne rolled her eyes, “if you think it’s a foolish idea, just tell me.”

“No, darling, I think it’s a very good idea.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Ann nodded indulgently. 

“Oh, good,” Anne reached in her pocket.

“Where will you keep this list?”

“On my phone. I thought, you know, then it would be safe. Nobody could find it. We could,” Anne paused, eyes raking over Ann’s body, “consult it wherever. On the go.”

Ann laughed and shook her head. Anne adjusted her legs, dropping the uninjured one to the floor. Ann loved how widely Anne spread her legs, how much space she took up, how she never seemed to notice. 

“Now first,” Anne said softly, “blindfolds. Thoughts?”

“Yeah,” Ann breathed. “Would you - uh, would it be, uh, both of us?”

“Well, not at the same time, Miss Walker,” Anne smirked as she typed. “Might be a little unproductive.”

“Pony,” Ann pinched her leg, enjoying Anne’s attempt at wriggling away. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I was thinking both of us. I’m going to make a grid, how’s that? What and who and where and if we’ve done it and when.” Anne tapped happily.

“You’re very organized, my love.”

“Is that bad?” Anne stopped tapping.

“No,” Ann said simply.

“Excellent. Next, tying up. How do you feel?”

“Yes,” Ann said slowly, considering, “but not, like, really complicated stuff. Like, I think I - my back might not be able to handle some of the things I’ve seen online.”

“What have you seen online?” Anne purred, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Just - nothing too intricate.” Ann shook her head, blushing.

“What are you picturing? Ideally?”

“Like, uh, like wrists to bedposts,” Ann said softly.

And then Anne’s lips were on hers, her leg bent awkwardly between them. Ann cupped her face, but Anne was already leaning back with a grin. 

“I do love you, Ann Walker.”

“Hush.” Ann reapplied the ice pack. “What’s next?”

“Roleplay.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ann breathed. “Like - do you remember that time at my house?”

“When you were my naughty student?” Anne purred, her voice positively filthy. “How could I forget?”

Ann chuckled and looked away, attempting to rein in her racing heart. 

“What else, my love? Who would you like to be?”

“Um, I - oh, I don’t know,” Ann shrugged helplessly. “You start.”

“I had an idea when I came in here, actually. You and Argus. Perhaps you,” Anne paused, to bite her lip and look at the ceiling in that bashful way that made Ann crazy. “Perhaps you’re here to walk my dog, and I find you two in here on the couch. I send Argus packing, so I can ravish you.”

Ann’s mouth was dry, her heart had stopped, her mind raced. Anne studied her, laughed, then typed on her phone. 

“So a yes on the dogwalker.” She purred. “Your turn.”

“Uh, what - uh,” Ann couldn’t form thoughts. “What about something in the garden? You’re the gardener, and I’m - I don’t know. I’m me.”

“Lovely,” Anne smiled. “One more each, hmm? I was wondering if you would paint me. Or photograph me. The connection between artist and muse is…” Anne shrugged with a smile.

“Yes,” Ann said softly. “I would love to paint you, Pony.”

“Last one, my love.”

“Can you play the guitar?” Ann said after a moment’s thought. 

“Me? Barely,” Anne laughed. “I took flute in school, but then I decided guitar was more useful. Better way to pick up girls. I get away with being terrible, because I never have to play very long.” She winked.

“Would you play for me? In the chaumière.”

“Sure,” Anne nodded. “And you’re my groupie?”

“Yes,” Ann breathed, suddenly overwhelmed by the possibilities presented before her. She felt a desperate urge to drag Anne to bed and lock the door until they’d ticked off every item on the list. Tension crackled in the air between them; Ann figured they had enough time for a quick romp before dinner. She had just opened her mouth to say so when Marian appeared. 

“Little Ann, can I entice you into a backgammon tournament?”

“A what?” Ann breathed, still imagining Anne holding a guitar. 

“A tournament. I’ve just played Aunt and triumphed. I wondered if you two would play a hit, and then I’d play each of you, and then whoever won the most would be the champion.”

“That’s not a tournament,” Anne furrowed her brows in annoyance. “That’s just everyone playing a boardgame.”

“Whatever,” Marian shrugged, “do you want to play?”

What choice did she have? She and Anne could hardly escape now. It would be too obvious. Besides, the lingering tension between them, Anne’s annoyance at her sister, the prospect of winning handily - it was rather exciting. She found herself grinning, pushing Anne’s leg from her lap, and helping Marian move the card table across from the sofa. 

“Adney!” Anne whined, “why are you always taking Marian’s side?”

“Adney,” Marian pulled a chair across from Ann, setting up the board between them. “Is that your word for Little Ann? I’m not making fun,” she held up her hands. “Just asking.”

“It is,” Anne stood, stretched, and bumped her sister out of the chair to settle behind the table. “Though I’m sure you’d rather be spared the very dirty story that sparked its use.”

“Anne!” Ann cried, blushing. “It’s not -” she turned to Marian. “It’s not dirty at all. It’s -”

“Private,” Anne cut her off, nudging her under the table. Ann took the hint. “And impossibly filthy, as fits with my playboy ways.”

“I don’t believe you,” Marian said suspiciously. “I don’t think Little Ann would do anything ‘impossibly filthy.’”

“You’d be surprised,” Anne murmured, just loudly enough for Ann to hear. 

Ann flushed and focused on the game. Anne would never win like this - all charging forward, trying to rush the game, leaving her checkers vulnerable to attack. Ann went easy on her at first, let her get a little bit ahead, but in the end, she had no choice but to wreck her. 

“That’s...uh,” Ann jostled her leg nervously at Anne’s silence. “That’s the game.”

Anne stood without speaking, leaning slightly to avoid putting pressure on her ankle. Ann watched her pass her hand through her hair, run her tongue between her top lip and teeth, shake her head. Ann kicked herself, wishing she had let her wife win; she knew how fragile Anne’s ego could be. Hadn’t Ann just held her as she wept over her shortcomings? And now she’d rather handily beaten her in front of her sister. Ann gulped, preparing for an outburst, a shock of cold air, a massive row.

Then Anne smiled. 

As usual, Anne’s toothy grin was the sun breaking through the sky, scattering the clouds and Ann’s worries. Anne shook her head, hobbled to the couch, and toppled onto it, playfully pressing her back against Ann’s shoulder. Her weight was heavy, warm, comforting. When Ann turned, she could see Anne’s good leg stretched out and poking at her sister. Marian laughed and swatted her foot, but she stood. 

“I am vanquished once again,” Anne lamented, leaning her head onto Ann’s shoulder and hoisting both legs onto the sofa. “By my own Miss Walker. Is there no justice?”

“Alright, you big baby,” Marian rolled her eyes, picking up the dice. 

Ann nudged Anne’s back playfully; Anne shifted and flopped backward, her head landing in Ann’s lap. Ann tensed, unsure of this display of affection in front of Marian, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Anne crossed her legs in a figure-four, holding the ice to her ankle with one hand, the other dangling down and brushing across Ann’s calf. It was reassuring, gentle, innocent. Ann relaxed, figuring if the Listers didn’t mind, she didn’t either. 

On the gameboard, Marian was playing it too safe. The stark opposite of her sister, she preferred to keep her checkers in safe little pairs, never venturing much and, thereby, never gaining much. The game dragged on, and Anne started to fidget, her fingers tracing Ann’s ankle, her calf, her foot. 

“Stop,” Ann hissed, “that tickles.”

“So, sister,” Anne sighed, retracting her hand into her lap, “have you heard from your Thomas?”

“Yes,” Marian flushed, eyes trained on the board. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I should think it is my business, if my sister is carrying on with a member of my staff.”

“Who’s this?” Ann piped in, lost.

“Thomas Beech,” Anne flourished her hand in the air. “Works on the grounds. Marian says he has a lovely face.”

“He does,” Marian smiled shyly to Ann. 

Ann felt strange. Normally, when a friend complimented a man’s appearance, she would agree, nod appropriately, pick at her fingernails. Now, she supposed she was exempt from that, understood to be a lesbian, not expected to fawn over men. It was odd, this newfound freedom. She’d spent her entire life extolling the visual attractiveness of men and feigning interest, and now she just - didn’t have to? How exhilarating. 

“So he’s called you?” Anne prodded.

“Texted. Rather a lot,” Marian said defensively.

“Marian, if you’re sleeping with him -”

“Anne!” Marian chucked the dice at her.

Anne laughed, and Ann reached over to collect the small cubes from Anne’s belly. Even this brush was electric. Having the steady pressure of Anne’s head in her lap for nearly half an hour by now didn’t help. Ann adjusted in her seat, squeezing her legs together. Anne’s hand dropped back to the floor, tracing gently over Ann’s ankle. 

“He’s rather lovely,” Marian told Ann, who could only nod and try to steady her breathing as Anne’s fingers trailed fire across her skin.

Marian prattled on about Thomas, playing her same, careful moves. The game felt unending. Ann was certain she would burst before either one of them won. Anne’s fingers dared higher, along the curve of her calf, curling loosely. Occasionally, she would turn her head, as if studying the game, and her hot breath would blow across Ann’s bare thighs. Ann fidgeted, unable to tame the fire building in her gut; she even tugged at Anne’s hair once, but her wife took no notice. Finally, finally, she eked out a victory. Marian smiled and congratulated her, saying something or other as she left the room. Ann never heard it. The entirety of her focus was on Anne’s broad hands - one caressing her ankle, the other reaching around her neck, pulling Ann’s lips to her own. Ann was so desperate for Anne, she didn’t even mind the awkward angle. After a long beat, she pulled away, straightening her back and panting. 

“Come on,” Anne whispered, sitting up. 

Ann followed her to what appeared to be a panel in the wall. Anne swung it open, tugging Ann inside and flicking on the light. It was a closet, narrow but deep; file cabinets lined the walls, a rickety chair at the far end. Before Ann could ask, Anne had flipped her around and pressed her into the closed door from behind. Anne’s hips were insistent, her hands demanding, her lips dripping flames. Ann gasped into the cool wood of the door, melting into Anne’s fervent embrace. 

“I think you need to be reminded, Miss Walker, who’s in charge.”

Anne’s hands fumbled at her waistband, one skating up the skin of her abdomen and slipping into her bra, the other plunging into her shorts and stroking her through her panties. Ann sagged in relief at finally being touched; this fire had been building for so long. She tilted her neck to give Anne’s lips better access, whimpering softly as teeth nipped at her jugular. 

“You can beat me at any game you like,” Anne husked, “but don’t forget who the boss is.”

Ann nodded, bucking her hips, desperate for Anne to breach the barrier of lace between them. 

“No matter what ha-” Anne broke off with a gasp, leaning more fully into Ann, her hands freezing.

“Anne?” She panted, unsure what could have cut her wife off like that. 

“Bloody ankle,” Anne muttered, and Ann started to laugh. She took Anne’s hands, removed them from under her clothes, and turned around to face her. “What?”

“You’re - I mean, we’re - you’re pinning me against this door, all macho and dominant, and then -” Ann chuckled and shook her head. “Then your ankle hurts you, because you were out digging holes, which I told you not to do anyway.”

Anne clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. Ann draped her arms around her neck.

“Come on, Pony, sit down.”

She walked Anne backwards to the chair, squeezing her knees in on either side of her. She brought their lips together. Anne’s hands landed on her waist; Ann stroked her neck. They were slower now, more sensual, less frantic. Ann broke away for breath.

“Where are we?”

“Records Room,” Anne said, nosing into her neck. “That’s what I call it, anyway. Just a place for old papers about the estate, that kind of thing.”

“A nice place for a snog,” Ann breathed as Anne’s lips trailed over her t-shirt, between her breasts.

“I was hoping we’d do more than snog,” Anne teased.

“Get on with it then.”

“So bossy.” Anne flicked open her shorts; her lips returned to her neck. “All that winning gone to your head, my love?”

“Having that dirty mind of yours in my lap all -” Ann moaned as skilled fingers found her entrance, “all afternoon.”

“I didn’t know where to look,” Anne probed her entrance. “Your legs to one side,” she slid a single finger inside. “Your tits right above me,” Anne’s hand landed heavily on her breast.

“Tits?” Somewhere in Ann’s pleasure-soaked brain, she registered surprised at the vulgarity of this term, rather unlike her wife to use. Most of her attention, however, was caught up in the slow, steady rhythm Anne was setting between her legs.

“Men like to brand themselves,” Anne slid a second finger in with the first, “as tit men,” she massaged Ann’s breast more firmly, “or ass men.” Her hand snaked around to cup Ann’s behind, grinding her harder. “I’ve always thought,” she sucked at Ann’s neck for a beat, “why not both?”

Ann threw back her head and breathed a laugh, rather more focused on her impending release than Anne’s dirty witticisms. She rolled her hips more firmly, following Anne’s deliberate pace. Her own hands sank into Anne’s hair and grasped at her shoulders for balance. 

“You look so fucking good,” Anne leaned back to admire her. “So fucking good,” she spanked Ann lightly. Ann moaned, moving her hips more quickly. “You like that, baby?” She slapped her ass again. Ann moaned again. “You’re going to come like this, Adney?” Ann nodded. “Just a little more, hmm?” Anne spanked her once more.

“Harder,” Ann whispered, unsure if she meant the thrusts or the slaps. She just needed more force, more power, more Anne. 

“Whatever you say,” Anne purred. 

Luckily, Anne did seem to have the power to read minds, and soon her hand was pressing into Ann harder, her thumb slipping over Ann’s clit harder, her intermittent slaps falling harder. It was exactly what Ann needed, and her body went taut. She choked out a moan as her release rushed through her, and then she deflated forward, burying her face in Anne’s shoulder to catch her breath. Anne pulled her hand from Ann’s shorts and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“You’re so gorgeous like that,” she said softly, thoughtfully. “Wild, uninhibited, and mine.” her hand stroked down Ann’s spine. “I can’t tell you what it does to me, seeing you like that.”

Ann raised her head, finding Anne’s smoldering eyes boring into her. She kissed her once deeply, then again, more of a tease. She shuffled off her lap and onto the floor on her knees. She lifted Anne’s sock-clad foot, her ankle still cold from the ice. 

“Pony, I can see you’re pretty worked up.” Anne nodded frantically. “There’s nothing I want to do more than make love to you right now.” Anne shifted her hips in anticipation; Ann tightened her grip on the injured ankle, drawing a wince from above. “But I’m going to need you to make me a promise.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t dig up any more hedges.”

Anne laughed, but she nodded, making an ‘X’ over her heart. Ann pressed her lips to the cool skin of her ankle, then hooked her fingers in the waistband of Anne’s dirty work shorts.

“And in future, you’ll listen to your wife.”

“Yes,” Anne breathed.

Going down on Anne was always a special pleasure - it seemed to make her more vulnerable, more desperate, needier. She could dictate Ann’s actions more easily in other positions, bucking her hips or gripping her arm, or holding her hips. This way, Anne really could only drag her fingers through Ann’s curls and hold on for dear life. Ann adored it. This particular moment was among her favorites. The moment Anne accepted what was to come. The moment Anne ceded total control. The moment just before what came next.

She slid Anne’s shorts down her legs, encouraging Anne’s hips forward and running her hands up and down Anne’s thighs. Anne twisted impatiently, biting her lip and studying Ann. She grinned, making her wife wait just one more second. Then she dipped her head.

Anne still smelled like outside - grass and leaves and dirt. Past that was the sharpness of Anne’s sweat, then the heady scent of her arousal. Ann dragged her tongue across her folds a few times, building slowly; she knew Anne was already on edge, but it never hurt to tease just a little. Once Anne’s hands clamped around her head, that’s when she would start her attack in earnest. 

It didn’t take long.

It never did, Ann mused as she circled Anne’s clit. She hated to tease Anne for it, because she was always so patient, letting Ann go first. It was sort of marvelous, Ann thought as she sucked at the hard bundle of Anne’s desire, the turn-based nature of their lovemaking. Not always, she conceded as she grazed her teeth against Anne’s clit, but most of the time. Anne was a perfect gentleman, she decided as she flicked her tongue a little faster; she really had impeccable manners. 

“Adney.”

The soft voice broke Ann from her reverie, and she pulled away, afraid she’d done something wrong. She wiped her mouth and raised her brows in question. 

“It - you, uh,” Anne panted. “It’s good, of course; it’s really good. But, uh - you seem distracted.”

“Oh,” Ann flushed, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“What a gentleman you are,” Ann answered honestly, placing wet kisses along the tops of Anne’s thighs as she spoke. “How much I love the way you make love to me.” Her face hovered over Anne’s core. 

“Please,” Anne breathed, lifting her hips in desperation.

Ann smiled, dipping her head again. This time, she didn’t think about anything but the task at hand. She worked diligently against Anne’s core; she moaned at the taste of her, knowing exactly how wild that would make her wife. It wasn’t long - it never was - before Anne was shuddering above her, mumbling incoherently as she came. Ann pulled away, pressed soft kisses to her belly, then sat back on her heels. 

Anne opened her eyes slowly, a satisfied grin spreading across her handsome face. Ann leaned forward and caught her lips, cradling Anne’s face in her hands. Anne broke away with a chuckle, tugging her shorts back around her hips.

“What’s funny?” Ann scrambled to her feet.

“I don’t know how we’ll ever finish our list,” Anne smirked as she stood. “We have a lot of trouble staying focused.”

“Your fault, Dr. Lister,” she tugged open the door, “pawing at me all afternoon.”

“Perfectly innocent, Miss Walker,” Anne took her arm, leading her to the kitchen. “It’s you who always makes everything so dirty.”

“Me?” Ann cried with a laugh. “You do realize you’ve just said that out loud? It came out of your mouth. You didn’t just think it. You of all -” she paused, noticing the way Anne’s eyes danced in the afternoon sun. “Oh, you’re a beast,” she struck her lightly on the arm.

Anne grinned back at her, and Ann felt her cheeks ache at her matching expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Big shoutout to firstdown, who gave me an incredibly helpful in-service on backgammon strategies a few chapters ago. 
> 
> Since Anne told her aunt about her nickname for Ann in letters, and I assume she used it out loud, I figured Anne wouldn't react as poorly to Marian knowing about "Adney" as she did to "Pony." Do you think Ann ever used "Pony" in front of other people?
> 
> I really have no firm grasp of the floorplan of Shibden, so please excuse. I'm picturing this "Records Room" to be that little closet where Anne gets the deed when Marian is all worked up after going to the bank in Episode 7.
> 
> Millions of thank yous to all you lovely readers, especially everyone who was so kind on that last chapter. I was a bit nervous, and you all were so supportive. Your feedback is truly everything to me, and truthfully I'm getting a bit addicted to it. Not sure what I'll do when I have to go back to work...
> 
> Anyway, thank you again and let me know what you thought of this one!


	32. Thursday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late and a little rushed with this one, sorry friends. please overlook typos and the like

When did it get to be after ten o’clock? It had just been seven. Anne huffed back in her office chair, stretching her neck to look at the ceiling. If she stopped now, she could review what she’d written in about an hour, maybe ninety minutes. In bed by midnight. That was reasonable. 

First, she decided, she needed to use the bathroom. She could tell Ann of her plan as well, so she wouldn’t wonder. They’d barely slept the night before, so she figured Ann was probably a little tired, perhaps even grateful for the chance to turn in early. What she did not anticipate, however, was running into her young wife in the hallway.

“Hello there,” she wrapped her arms around Ann’s slim waist.

“I thought you’d gotten lost,” Ann said lowly, her hands trailing over Anne’s lower back. 

“I have about an hour’s worth of work, my love, then I’ll come to bed.”

“Leave it,” Ann whined, her hands dipping into Anne’s back pockets and squeezing gently. 

“One hour.” Anne said firmly. “That’s all.”

Ann pouted for a beat, then stretched her neck to kiss Anne fiercely. Anne was surprised, but she leaned into the kiss, even allowing Ann to push her backwards into the wall. They pressed together feverishly for a few moments, but when Ann’s hands trailed along the front of her shorts and across her waistband, Anne broke away. 

“One hour,” she husked. “I’m going to pee, then one more hour, then I’ll be with you, hmmm?”

Ann nodded, and Anne strode down the hall. She didn’t wonder why Ann remained in the hallway, hadn’t noticed the lightness in her pocket, hadn’t considered why Ann was only returning to their room as she was drying her hands. She winked at her wife on her way out the door, then strode purposefully to her office. Which was now locked.

“What?” she muttered to herself, trying the door again. Definitely, resolutely locked. She patted her hips; her keys were gone. “Damn.”

She turned slowly in the hallway, trying to remember where she’d last had them. She hadn’t locked the door when she left, or at least she didn’t think so. She couldn’t remember, truthfully. Ann had presented herself, and then she’d pounced on her, and then - 

Ah, that was it. Anne smiled ruefully, shaking her head at her wife’s latest trick. She strolled back to their room, finding Ann fiddling with something at the headboard. She closed the door with a click, then crossed her arms and watched her. Ann had one of her ties in her hands, and she was fumbling rather helplessly with it. Anne cleared her throat. Ann whipped around, eyes wide in surprise. 

“I think you have something of mine.”

“Do I?” Ann slid off the bed, sauntering to Anne with a smirk.

Anne held out her hand, quirking an eyebrow. It was so easy, figuring Ann out; she would get her keys, go back to her office, and -

Hold on. 

Ann had looped one of Anne’s ties around her wrist. Anne’s jaw dropped. Before she could react, Ann had caught both her wrists in the black silk, twisting and knotting and then - pulling it together. Ann looked up from her work, tugging lightly to ensure it was secure but not too tight. Anne’s mouth attempted to form words, but her brain was no longer working. 

“What do you think, Dr. Lister? Fancy checking something off your list?”

Anne couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but dip her head and catch Ann’s lips with her own. Her hands reached out, twisting in Ann’s shirt, unable to do much more. Ann cupped her face for a moment, fingertips slipping into her hair. 

“Is this okay?” She whispered, bright blue eyes betraying her nerves. 

“Better than okay,” Anne breathed. Her heart raced as Ann led her to the bed. She sat down heavily on the edge, Ann kneeling between her legs. “How’d you learn how to do this?” She lifted her wrists. 

“What do you think I’ve been doing all afternoon?” Ann tugged her socks off. “My browsing history is filthy.” She kissed the inside of Anne’s knees. “I’m a very quick study.”

“I can see that,” Anne smirked.

“Seriously, Pony,” Ann propped her elbows on Anne’s knees, interlacing her fingers and balancing her chin on them. “I was thinking, earlier, about how, um,” her tongue poked out between her lips for a moment as she organized her thoughts. “I was thinking about the way we do this.”

“The way we do this?” Anne jostled her knees. Ann shot her a look. Anne stilled. 

“I was thinking,” Ann drawled, “that I always go first. You know?”

“I do know,” Anne licked her lips, “and I like it that way.”

“I do too, but, uh, sometimes it’s fun to - you know, to have a change of pace.”

“Sure.”

“It just didn’t feel fair, you know? Because - because by the time it’s your turn,” Ann chuckled, “I’m usually rather tired.”

“Ann,” she sighed, her heart aching at the sincerity in those blue eyes. “It’s not about - there’s no scorekeeping, my love.” She leaned forward, her knotted hands cupping Ann’s face. “I rather think of it like I get to go first.”

And then Ann smiled, wide and bright and sparkling. As usual, Anne’s heart skipped a beat. They stared at each other for a moment, then Ann tilted her chin. Anne bent forward, pressing their lips together once, twice, then she found only air. Ann had pulled back and sat on her heels. Her hands shot lightning up Anne’s legs, across her knees, over the waistband of her shorts. The button flicked open easily, and Anne fell back into the sheets, lifting her hips as Ann slid them off. Ann hooked her fingers in her boxers, then stopped. 

“Have I ever told you, Pony, how much I love these?” She pulled gently. “Something about the elastic up here, the way it’s all loose around your legs. It’s so masculine,” Ann dropped them to the floor. “Sometimes you have those tighter ones,” she exhaled. “Those are my favorite.” Her lips met the overheated skin of Anne’s thighs. 

“I’ll have to remember that,” Anne sighed, stretching her arms stretching above her head.

“Now, Pony,” Ann leaned forward, pushing Anne’s t-shirt up to the line of her bra, “you have to be good.” Her tongue traced fire along Anne’s stomach. “Hands to yourself, okay?”

“Yes,” Anne twitched and rolled her hips, “of course.”

“I’m serious, darling.” Lips dragged over her belly, her hipbones, the tops of her thighs. “Those hands better stay right where they are.”

“Okay,” Anne managed, desperation growing. 

Ann hummed in a pleased sort of way, then pushed her knees apart. Anne couldn’t control the twitch of her hips as those soft lips trailed along the inside of her thighs, nor could she stop the low moan as that firm tongue dragged its way to her center. She could barely keep her hips steady as Ann’s mouth set to work between her legs. Her entire essence was focused on keeping her arms in place. 

But, fuck, it was hard. 

It was borderline impossible, really. To keep her hands from grasping Ann’s head, to keep her fingers from pulling at those pink locks, to leave her torso so open and vulnerable. Her hands fisted in the sheets above her, her hips twisting until small, pale hands steadied them. 

“Be still,” came the low voice between her thighs. 

Anne could only whimper in reply. 

Giving up control was one of her least favorite things to do, in the bedroom and everywhere else. As a rule, she avoided it whenever possible. Because of her brusque nature, most people let her get away with it. Ann Walker, however, was not most people. 

She felt this acutely as Ann’s tongue ran along her folds, as her lips enfolded her clit, as her hands roamed aimlessly across her stomach. Ann’s touch often felt like fire, but tonight it was a volcano on the brink of eruption. Pressure grew steadily in Anne’s gut, spreading to her thighs, up her abdomen. All the while, Ann’s mouth stoked hot lava over her core. Finally, Anne felt the smoke rising, her thighs trembling and her arms pressing against her ears as she clung to the bed. 

“Adney,” she gasped as her release broke through, “yes, baby, yes, oh, Go-”

And then she had no more words, only trembling muscles and panting breath and dripping sweat. Ann continued to lap gently until Anne was certain there was nothing left of her at all. 

“Okay,” she breathed, and Ann pulled away. 

Anne’s body sagged in relief, relaxing as Ann’s wet lips journeyed up her stomach, over her ribs, along her neck, across her jaw, to her lips. Anne reveled in the taste of her own arousal on Ann’s lips and tongue, and she sighed at the press of Ann’s clothed body against her slick skin. Ann settled her weight on top of her, then ran her hands up Anne’s arms to that black silk.

“How is this?” She whispered.

“Good,” Anne assured her. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, darling, I am.”

“You did a very good job, Pony.”

“Thank you.” Anne usually didn’t care much for praise, but she found herself craving Ann’s. Desperate for her approval. “May I be released, Miss Walker?” 

“Not yet,” Ann husked, her tongue tracing lazily over Anne’s ear. “You see, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Why’s that?”

“I thought I could attach your hands to - I don’t know, something. But this bed you made me buy -”

“What?” Anne laughed.

“The headboard isn’t right for it,” Ann sighed, pressing her lips lazily to Anne’s neck. “I think the bed in the hut is better.”

“You’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Anne tried to sound confident, but she gasped out the last word as Ann’s hand traced over her hip. 

“It’s almost all I can think about,” Ann shifted to lie beside her, one hand stretched above them tracing over the tender inside of Anne’s elbow, the other moving slowly over Anne’s belly, hip, thigh. “It’s terribly inappropriate.”

Anne opened her mouth to respond, but Ann had chosen just that moment to ghost over her sensitive core. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying desperately to keep from moaning too loudly. 

“Tonight, at dinner, I watched you cutting your meat, and - fuck, Pony, you’re so wet.” Anne choked at Ann’s discovery. That, and the dainty fingertips drawing through her steadily growing arousal. “I watched you, and all I could think about was those hands on my body. Holding onto my hip or wrapping around my neck or -” Ann moved lightly over her clit, “or pushing inside me.” 

“Ann,” was all her strangled voice could manage - a desperate plea in one syllable. Between her bound wrists, Ann’s skilled hands, her teasing lips - Anne was dangerously close to coming again. Normally, she might want to draw it out, relish this feeling, take her time. Tonight? Right now? Absolutely not. The circles grew tighter over her clit, harder, faster. Ann’s lips pressed against her ear. 

“You’re so quiet, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“I - oh, fuck.” Ann started strumming her clit just as Anne opened her mouth - she was not going to make this easy for her, was she? 

“Tell me, Pony.” Her usually sweet voice was wicked.

“I want - fuck, Ann, Ann I - I want to fuck you.” 

“So I can stop?” Ann’s hand moved away. Anne exhaled sharply at the loss.

“No!”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want - damn it, Ann, you know what I want.”

“I want you to say it,” Ann said sweetly, her breath hot and wet against Anne’s neck. 

“I want you,” Anne said slowly, “to make me come.” She licked her lips. “And then I want you to untie me, so I can fuck you. Over and over again.”

For a moment, they were suspended in time. Anne very rarely asked this blatantly for anything, particularly in bed. She was the master of “don’t worry about me,” and finishing alone. She was always the subject - the one doing something to someone else. She was unfamiliar with herself as the object - the one affected by an action. She loved, sure, but she wasn’t always so sure about being loved. As always, however, Ann Walker had rewritten the rules. She didn’t let Anne shy away from her desires, mask them behind bravado, or create a distraction with her skilled fingers. In fact, she’d tied them up, effectively taken them away and denied Anne her favorite tool for deflection, forcing Anne to let herself be loved.

“That’s it,” Ann purred as time shifted back into gear. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Ann continued dripping filthy, sweet nothings into Anne’s ear, but she didn’t hear them. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart, her own breathy whines, and the slick slide of Ann’s hand between her legs. Her body seized upward, her hips lifting from the bed, as she succumbed to Ann’s ministrations. As she deflated into the bed, spent, she closed her eyes, just for a moment, to say a prayer of gratitude for Ann Walker. 

“You okay, Pony?” Ann broke into her thoughts.

“Yes,” Anne shook her head as if to shake away the sentimentality of her postcoital thoughts. “Will you release me now?”

“I suppose,” Ann teased, swinging a leg over to sit on Anne’s thighs.

Anne sat up, bringing her hands into her lap. She felt her shoulder pop - stiffness from stretching like that for so long. She wouldn’t trade it, though, not for anything. She'd rather lose Shibden than give up the way Ann made her feel, the way she spoke, the way she looked, even now, as she struggled undoing her own knots. 

“That part there,” Anne tried to help, “I think if you -”

“I can do it.” Ann was defensive.

“Okay.”

A beat of fumbling and lip biting and impatience.

“There are scissors in the drawer.”

“Are there?” Ann looked up hopefully.

“Yes, darling.”

“I hate to ruin your tie,” Ann scrambled out of her lap to root through the nightstand.

“I’m not sure I could wear it again,” Anne chuckled, “knowing what it’s been through.”

“Why do you have scissors?” Ann asked as she resettled in Anne’s lap and snipped at the silk, freeing Anne at last. 

“Sometimes,” Anne drawled as she tugged her own shirt over her head, “I have these innocent young things in my bed. They watch all the videos about tying knots, but none of the videos about untying them.”

Ann bit her lip, blushing; Anne figured she was embarrassed. She knew how badly Ann wanted to seem worldly and how much she disliked showing her inexperience. Ann kissed each of her wrists softly, looking up at Anne with those big blue eyes. There was nothing to do but kiss her. 

For the second time that day, Anne held her wife in her lap, pressing their lips together feverishly. The desperation grew between them, until Anne couldn’t stand it. She broke away, panting and tugging Ann’s shirt over her head. She unclasped the flimsy lace that passed for Ann’s bra, then she descended on Ann’s breasts. Good God, they were excellent. Flushed a pale pink when Ann was excited, soft, perky, responsive - they fit perfectly into Anne’s hand, between her lips. 

“Oh God,” Ann moaned, holding Anne’s head closer to her chest. “I need you, Pony, please.”

In a flurry of limbs, Anne flipped Ann onto her back, settling between her legs. She licked and kissed and sucked her way across Ann’s ribs and belly, shucking Ann’s shorts hurriedly; Ann giggled at her fervor, their knocking knees and elbows. Anne caught her laughter with another bruising kiss, and then she was between her legs again, dragging her soaked panties down with her teeth. 

“Fuck,” Ann sighed. “How are you - everything you do is so hot.”

Anne grinned, winking before she descended to Ann’s core. Ann was dripping with desperation, and Anne felt a reciprocal urgency to taste her. To devour her. To suck the very life from her. And so, of course, she did. She moved her tongue fluidly across Ann’s folds, sucked gently at her clit, slid two fingers into her clutching center.

“God,” groaned the voice above her, “you’re so - holy fu- right th- oh my -Pony, please, right there, harder, yes, Pony, just like that, please.”

Anne grinned against Ann’s core - how she loved the roadmap Ann provided her. The moans and gasps and grasping hands that directed Anne exactly how to love her. Ann’s hips started to buck, but Anne steadied her with the gentle press of her hand. Ann’s roadmap was growing incoherent, her thighs trembling, her walls fluttering around Anne’s fingers. Anne stroked her through her orgasm, slowing down gently until Ann caught her breath.

“Oh, Pony, that was -”

Ann never finished that sentence, because Anne started anew, coaxing another release from between her thighs. She worked fastidiously, drawing every drop of arousal from Ann with her fingers, her lips, her tongue. Ann was panting again, her hands sliding from Anne’s hair to her neck and shoulders. 

“Come here,” she breathed, “come up here.”

Anne was more than happy to oblige, crawling over her wife’s desperate, rutting body to catch her lips in a sloppy kiss. Their tongues slid together, their hot breath mingled, their sweaty foreheads bumped. Anne eased a third finger in with the rest, and Ann let out half a cry before Anne could muffle her with her lips. It was everything - the press of their slick bellies, the strain in Anne’s furiously-pumping arm, the taste of sweat and arousal and need on Ann’s lips. Anne wanted to break away; her mind raced with a million dirty things to whisper into Ann’s ear, but she didn’t. She let the slap of their bodies meeting and the harmony of their gasps fill the room instead, until, finally, Ann shot over the precipice with a choked cry. 

This time, Anne did pull away, wiping her hand on her own thigh, pressing a kiss to Ann’s cheek, and rolling onto her back next to her. She paused for only a moment, then she stood and rooted through her pockets for her phone.

“What are you doing?” Ann sat up, pushing sweat-slick hair from her eyes. 

“Updating our list,” Anne said casually, filling in the matrix she had made that afternoon. 

“Anne!”

“What?” Anne finished her sentence and looked up.

“Put your phone away!”

Sheepishly, Anne placed her phone on the nightstand, bending to press an apology kiss to her wife’s lips. The w-word flashed in her mind, but it was overpowered by the approving smile on Ann’s face as she straightened. It didn’t matter - Anne was too far gone to go back now. And after what they’d just done? The endorphins rushing through her veins? Anne didn’t see what was so bad about doing what her wife asked. It always ended up for the better, anyway.

“Will you get me something to sleep in?” Ann said softly, stretching and padding past her to the bathroom. 

Anne watched her perform her nightly routine - face washing and cream applying and teeth brushing. It was sort of mystical, this process of feminine rites that Anne did not understand. Sometime, she would ask Ann to explain the steps, just for the pleasure of knowing and hearing Ann talk. Tonight, however, she leaned in the doorway and watched Ann’s naked form move about the bathroom with ease. As if she’d always been there, with Anne, at Shibden. 

“Are you going to gawk or you going to find me some musty old shirt of yours I can wear tonight?”

“Don’t you have your own shirts?” Anne stripped and stepped into a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt. 

“I like yours,” Ann shrugged. “I need to do laundry, but I like your shirts. The material is nice. And they smell like you.”

“And it’s black,” Anne held out a shirt, licking her lips as Ann slid it over her shoulders, “which drives your wife absolutely insane.”

“A bonus,” Ann winked and breezed past her to crawl into their bed.

Anne chuckled and started her own nightly routine. She reconsidered her thoughts earlier. Ann didn’t fit into Shibden like she’d always been there. She still got confused with cabinets and side doors and light switches. No, Ann fit into her arms, her bed, and her life because she was meant to be here. The centuries of history of this estate? The decades of turmoil and triumph in Anne’s life? They all led to one tiny, snoring, pink-haired person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> The beginning based on Real Life Ann Walker actually locking out Real Life Anne Lister so she'd come to bed. I can't find the diary entry now, but the phrase "and by these means have me earlier to bed" is stuck in my brain? Is that right? Am I an Anne Lister savant? Or a nut job? 
> 
> I usually work on these chapters a little bit at a time throughout the day, but I genuinely wrote this whole thing in about ninety minutes tonight, which I'm not loving. There are definitely some things I would flesh out a bit more, but my rule with this story is to keep moving forward. I'm trying not to tinker with or worry about things. So... that's not an excuse, but it's an explanation? I hope this chapter still measures up. 
> 
> Anywhoooo thank you for reading - let me know what you thought!


	33. Ann's Friday

Anne was already gone by the time she woke, as usual. Ann stretched languidly before getting up, enjoying the cool sheets against her skin. She padded to the bathroom, stripping off Anne’s shirt as she went. She really did like sleeping in these, the warm embrace of Anne’s scent and these too-long sleeves. She showered leisurely, turning over the events of the previous night in her mind. Wielding control over Anne like that was - intoxicating? Sure. Intensely arousing? Of course. Daunting? That, too.

She toweled her hair, noting how dry and damaged her hair seemed. That “temporary” dye of Marian’s was not doing her any favors. Maybe the pink had run its course, she thought, but then what would she do? Let her blonde hair grow in and live in this in-between for - for how long? No, that would drive her crazy. Maybe she could order a higher-quality dye, something that wouldn’t suck the moisture from her hair, and then -

“Hello,” came the low voice of her wife sauntering into the room. “Is this what you do while I’m out? Stand around naked?”

“Stick around sometime and find out,” she teased, draping her arms around Anne’s neck. 

“I think I’d better.” Anne leaned down to kiss her deeply, steering her gently to the bathroom wall. 

Ann felt the firm press of Anne’s pelvis, the scratch of her clothes against her body, the light curl of her fingers around her hips. She pulled away, finding Anne’s dark eyes already smoldering with that familiar flame. 

“How’s your ankle?” She whispered, stretching her fingertips up into Anne’s hair. 

“Oh, fine. Healed completely,” Anne dipped her head again, but Ann was already turning. 

“I wonder then,” she said over her shoulder, “if you might remind me, uh, of that thing you were going to - uh, you know yesterday-” she couldn’t finish her thought, because Anne’s lips were already pressing behind her ear, along her neck, over her shoulder.

“Oh yes,” Anne purred, “it would be my pleasure.”

Her sharp hips pressed forward, the rough material of her jeans grinding into Ann’s ass, the soft warmth of her t-shirt sliding along Ann’s back. One hand cupped Ann’s breast, the other traced over her belly. Ann moaned at the contact, the abrupt force of her movements, and she leaned forward to brace herself against the wall. Anne’s breath was hot in her ear as she massaged her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers; they both sighed as Anne’s hand slipped between her legs. 

“Already wet for me, my love?”

Ann moaned softly in response, her eyes slipping closed as Anne teased her entrance. Anne’s lips meandered across her skin - over her shoulder, down to her clavicle, up her neck; her arm moved to wrap around her waist, pulling Ann flush to her. She took half a step forward, and Ann was caught between the wall and the unyielding form behind her. Her desire was building steadily, and they had only just begun. She leaned her head back onto Anne’s shoulder, desperate to feel those strong fingers inside her.

“We don’t have much time,” Anne nipped her earlobe. “Do you mind?”

“God, Pony,” Ann panted, “get on with it.”

“Get on with it?” Anne growled, thrusting into her sharply. Ann couldn’t stop herself from crying out. “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me, darling. I’m starting to wonder who’s in charge around here.”

Anne’s pace was brutal, filling Ann over and over, the heel of her hand pressing savagely to her clit with every thrust. Ann was grateful for the strong arm holding her up, the cool wall in front of her, the desperate force of her wife’s love. 

“Getting what you wanted?” Anne husked, her teeth digging into the juncture between Ann’s neck and shoulder. 

“Yes, Pony, harder.”

Anne was usually so gentle with her, and Ann adored that. Sometimes, however, she needed something rough and harsh and fast. Something to split her open, remind her of Anne’s strength, leave her gasping and shaking. As her release built within her, she could hear her breathy cries getting higher and higher, but she couldn’t keep quiet. It was too much, between Anne’s hands and her lips and her soft grunts of effort as she brought Ann to a shuddering, breathless climax. 

Anne eased her hand from between her legs, pressing a kiss just behind Ann’s ear. The tenderness of it, the way she supported Ann’s weight and murmured quiet encouragement until she could stand on her own - it made Ann’s head spin. Anne’s wet fingers hovered in the air, and Ann felt desire surge in her anew. She turned slowly in Anne’s arms, took hold of her wrist, and sucked the remnants of her arousal from that dexterous hand. Anne exhaled sharply, her eyes wide and dark as they locked onto Ann’s; she slid her fingers out of Ann’s mouth, and Ann tugged at her belt. 

“Big Anne!” Marian pounded on the door to the hallway. “Can you come out here?”

“No!” Anne called back. Ann giggled as she fumbled with the button of her jeans. 

“Anne, I’m serious. I need to talk to you.”

Anne sighed and covered Ann’s hands. They both deflated for a moment, and Anne kissed the top of her head. 

“Coming,” she called with a roll of her eyes. “Though not in the way I would like to,” she whispered, drawing a laugh from her wife. 

Anne slipped into the hallway, and Ann finished getting dressed. She found the rest of the family at the dining table, a strained silence over the whole lot of them. Anne was already fiddling with her teacup, tension stretching between the sisters. Ann wondered if she could defuse the situation, so she set a goal to get her wife to smile before the meal was over. 

It wasn’t easy. 

For starters, Captain Lister spent the better part of ten minutes reminiscing about his time in the army, despite minimal encouragement from his sister and youngest daughter and outright disdain from his eldest. Ann wasn’t sure how to pivot to something lighter. 

Aunt Anne and Marian took hold of the conversation next, discussing their bread-making recipe at length. Marian was going to attempt to bake some bread over the next few days, but Aunt was less than confident in her abilities. This gentle ribbing from her aunt seemed to brighten Anne’s mood, if only a little. The conversation hit a lull, with Marian pouting into her toast, and Ann decided this was her moment. 

“Has Anne told you about her teaching me to drive?”

“No,” Aunt Anne shook her head with a smile.

“I’m afraid I gave her whiplash, poor thing,” Ann chuckled. 

“I’m surprised you don’t know how to drive,” Marian piped in. “You have a nice car.”

“Thank you,” Ann blushed, a bit embarrassed to have such an expensive vehicle that she couldn’t even operate. “It’s uh - the passenger seat is nice.”

The rest of the Listers laughed. Anne looked up from her cup for the first time all morning. Progress.

“You should have seen us - I was a proper menace! Anne was holding on for dear life. I was like -” Ann mimed jerking the steering wheel, “and my poor darling she was -” Ann mimicked Anne’s white-knuckled pose in the car, attempting to stay upright. 

For half a second, Ann thought she had failed, and that the Listers would not laugh. She had gone a bit large with the physicality, a bit silly with her voice, a bit over the top with the story; it was all rather more extroverted than she usually was. But it paid off - the entire family laughed, even Anne. Her eyes danced across the table, an unspoken “thank you” that sent a shiver along Ann’s spine. The meal broke up shortly after; Ann promised to take a walk with Aunt Anne, and Anne whispered in her ear on her way out of the room. 

“You make me the happiest woman in the world.”

Ann was still riding the high of those words when she and Aunt Anne stepped out into the cloudy morning. Aunt took her arm, and they walked in silence for a few yards. Argus trotted beside them. 

“When do you think you’ll get married?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, whenever things are open again.” Ann half-shrugged. 

“Church wedding? Courthouse?”

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Ann chuckled.

“Let me tell you this,” Aunt Anne patted her forearm. “Anne is going to act like she doesn’t mind, like she has no opinion, but you know her ego. She told me once she wanted something small, in a church, but then a big party. Show-off,” Aunt laughed. 

“That sounds, um, that sounds really nice.” Ann nodded.

“Now, what kind of dress?” 

They chatted and strolled, Argus running off sometimes then coming back. It was pleasant, of course, and Ann really shouldn’t have felt so unsettled. Aunt’s words kept reverberating in her mind. Anne had never told her this, and she was unreasonably bothered by it. Whom had Anne planned this intimate church wedding for? Would she still want that with Ann? What if Anne didn’t want to show her off? Would she be able to survive that?

She spent the rest of the morning in a near-daze, processing her laundry as if in a stupor. She washed Anne’s clothes too, which made her sort of wistful. Would she always be second best? Anne had spent most of her life fantasizing about marrying someone else, and now she was settling for Ann. And here Ann was, dutifully processing her dirty clothes while Anne did God-knows-what. Anne was in her forties, probably uninterested in the fuss of a big wedding. Besides, whatever she had imagined in the past, she wouldn’t want to repeat with Ann. Those dreams had been for Mariana or Vere or whomever - Anne hadn’t even had any dreams for her. 

She skipped lunch and curled into bed, feeling sorry for herself and scrolling aimlessly through her phone. Then the door swung open, and Anne’s heavy tread echoed in the room. 

“Adney?”

Ann hummed softly, her back to the door. She felt the bed depress behind her, then Anne’s hands running along her side and thigh. 

“What’s happened? Marian said you were upset.”

“What kind of wedding do you want?” She asked softly. 

“I don’t want to talk about weddings, I want to talk about what’s bothering you.”

Ann huffed, pulling away from Anne’s hands. 

“Is that what this is about? You want to get married?” Anne’s voice was tentative. 

“No!” Ann said forcefully, then shook her head. “I mean, yes, obviously, but -” she sat up and turned to face her. “What do you picture when you picture our wedding?”

“I don’t know,” Anne shrugged. “Once you mentioned flowers and springtime. You and me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Anne furrowed her brow, then sighed. 

“Whatever you want, Adney. We have plenty of time. I don’t - I mean, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Your Aunt said you used to want a church wedding. And then a big reception.”

Anne looked down, biting her lip. Ann’s gut twisted; she figured Anne hadn’t counted on that, and now she didn’t have a response. Silence stretched between them for an agonizing moment. 

“Look, when I said that, I - it was a long time ago.”

“You don’t want to marry me in a church?” Ann dared, picking at her nails.

“No! Yes! Ann -” Anne shook her head and looked at the ceiling. “When I, uh, had those thoughts and, um, ideas, I - I mean, gay marriage wasn’t even legalized yet.” Anne’s voice was strained, pleading. “I thought I would have some half-assed blessing of a- look, I was picturing marrying the widow I’d been screwing behind her husband’s back for years. It was - it was totally different from the life I have with you.”

“But why haven’t you - why haven’t you thought about those things with me?”

“I don’t know,” Anne said helplessly. “I just - I don’t know. It’s been so fast, and I - I just haven’t. It doesn’t mean - Adney, please understand that doesn’t mean I don’t want to marry you and celebrate you and share my life with you. Please.”

Anne’s eyes were watery, searching Ann’s face. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Ann believed her, but she couldn’t let go of the lingering hurt. Anne took her hand, stroking her fingers, then brought it to her lips, kissing the space just below the onyx ring. Her eyes telegraphed fear, hope, apology. Ann took a moment to assess her sincerity, but when had Anne ever been insincere? Not with something this serious. She inhaled slowly, then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Anne’s face lit up.

“Okay.”

Anne grinned, leaning forward to press their lips together. The kiss was brief, more of a promise than anything else. Anne pulled her back toward the headboard, wrapping Ann in her arms. Ann sighed, releasing the tension of the past few hours, enjoying the solid security of Anne’s body behind her. They breathed in sync for a few minutes. 

“I would like to have a big reception,” Anne said softly.

“Your aunt said you wanted to show off.”

“Of course she did,” Anne laughed. “Anyway, who wouldn’t want to show you off?”

Ann blushed and toyed with Anne’s fingers. 

“I don’t care where we do it, as long as you’re there, hmm? You and me, Adney, that’s all. I would like to show off, of course, but it’s whatever you want.”

“We could have it at a church. If you want. Anything you want.”

“We’ll never get anywhere like this,” Anne chuckled. “I have to go back to work, darling.” Ann whined softly in protest. “I know, but I’m expecting a Skype call. Or Zoom. Whatever it is. The Dean is calling me about the department. I need a tie.”

Ann released her hands and watched Anne rifle through her shirts. Ann followed her, pulling a light grey one from the rack.

“This one.”

“Oh?” Anne raised her eyebrows with a smirk. 

“And this tie,” Ann selected one of Anne’s many black ties.

Anne grinned as she tugged her t-shirt over her head, then bit her lip as Ann buttoned the grey shirt up. Ann felt a thrill as she tossed the black silk over Anne’s head, pulling her forward with it, pressing their lips together. She wished she knew how to tie one of these, how sexy that would be.

“Let me,” Anne laughed, covering her hands and knotting the silk. 

Anne tucked the tails into her trousers then held her arms out, eyebrows raised.

“Will I do?”

“Oh yeah,” Ann breathed.

“Keep it in your pants, Adney,” Anne kissed her chastely. “I’m off.”

Ann watched her go, willing her heart to slow down. She mused briefly on Anne’s work attire - would she send her wife off every day like that? Would Anne usually wear a jacket? What about once she got new clothes, ones with more color? Would Ann even be able to control herself?

It was these questions that bounced around in her mind until Marian’s sharp voice broke into her daydream.

“Fancy a rematch?” Her head poked in the doorway.

“What?”

“I’ve organized a proper backgammon round-robin this evening, will you play?”

“Sure,” Ann nodded.

“D’you still like the pink?” Marian tilted her head as she studied her. 

“I think so,” Ann said slowly. “My hair is feeling awfully dry, though.”

“I was afraid of that.” Marian nodded seriously. “I think maybe that was not the best quality dye.”

“I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“We could get some better product, hmm?” Marian strode past her toward the bathroom. “Anne has some.”

“What?” Ann laughed, a little surprised to see Marian in their room, so comfortably rooting through their bathroom cabinets.

“A few months ago she thought she was going grey, so she - here it is.” Marian held up a small box. “Might come out a little lighter, on you. Or we could order something else. Go back to blonde.”

Ann considered the crackle of her dry hair, the hopeful look in Marian’s eye, the way Anne had reacted to her last change of color. She smiled. 

“Let’s do it.”

Marian matched her grin, and soon the chemical smell of the dye filled the bathroom. Ann felt a twinge of nerves, fearing Anne might not like the darker color, but she was more focused on the exciting possibility of surprising her wife.

“How do you know how to do this?” Ann asked as Marian painted the dark goop onto her hair.

“Practice,” Marian shrugged. “I worked in the theater at uni, and then I went to cosmetology school for a bit.”

“Did you?” Ann was surprised.

“Oh yeah.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Well, I wanted to be here with my family. Father had a knee replacement about that time, and I didn’t want some stranger taking care of him. Of course, Her Majesty didn’t approve either, so… it’s for the best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ann’s gut twisted at the thought of Anne discouraging Marian to the point where she gave up on something she enjoyed. “She’s a bit of an ass sometimes, isn’t she?”

“You said it,” Marian laughed. “It’s really okay. I have more time with Father and Aunt, and I manage some of the things around the house. I have my little campaigns every now and then.”

Ann nodded, and soon they were discussing the local initiatives Marian had led, the charities she supported, the everyday work around the house she oversaw. Argus trotted in at one point, nuzzling against Ann’s hand and licking the leg of her jeans. Ann was once again struck by the injustice of Marian’s being overshadowed by her older sister. She wondered if Marian hoped to marry, if she would stay at Shibden if she did, if there would be children. Before she knew it, Ann was staring at her own, dark-haired reflection. 

“What do you think?” Marian asked nervously.

“I think I like it,” Ann touched the dark locks. “How does it look?”

“You look great,” Marian was smiling proudly. “I think it’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” Ann grinned. “I’m going to go find Anne.”

“I’ll get my earplugs,” Marian joked as Ann raced out of the room. 

Ann could hear Anne’s low voice from the hallway, but she eased open the door to her office anyway. She slipped inside, and for a few moments Anne didn’t look up.

“Yes, I understand, I’ll -” And then she did look up - her eyes wide and her lips parted. She shook herself back into reality and snapped her eyes back to the screen. 

Ann grinned as she leaned against the door, Anne’s urgent tones rushing the tinny voice coming from her computer. Soon enough she was closing her laptop, rising from her seat, and crashing into Ann. Their lips met fiercely for a few beats, Anne’s hands tangling in her hair, her hips pressing her firmly into the door. She broke away, panting.

“What is this?”

“Do you like it?” Ann’s heart raced, partly from that kiss (Good Lord) and partly from nerves. What would she do if Anne didn’t like it?

“Holy shit, Adney,” Anne’s eyes were glued to her hair, her fingers twisting it gently. “I think I love it.”

“Really?”

“Fuck, yes,” Anne husked. 

And then she was pressing into her again, one hand slipping between their bodies to flick open Ann’s jeans. Ann moaned at the first swipe of Anne’s fingers to her center. She was already so wet.

“Anne,” she moaned, pressing her head back against the door. Anne’s lips moved to her neck, sucking and licking and biting; she wrapped her arms around those strong shoulders, holding on for dear life. “Please, Anne, don’t tease.”

“Whatever you want,” Anne said into her skin, thrusting into her roughly. “Every time,” she panted, “I think you can’t get any hotter, you do something like this.” Anne’s teeth grazed her jugular. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.”

Ann chuckled weakly, more focused on the intense fire burning between her legs. Anne was murmuring softly into her hair, but she couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her heart. Her eyes slipped closed as warmth traveled from her core to the tips of her toes and the crown of her head. Anne’s nimble fingers worked her with well-practiced precision, her lips alternating between sucking at the skin of her neck and dripping filth in her ear. All too soon, her legs were trembling, her fingers were clenching, and she was choking out a gasp as she came. Her head fell forward onto Anne’s shoulder as she caught her breath. 

“Oh, Adney, I - Good Lord, I wish we had more time.”

“What?” Ann was still returning to her body.

“Time for dinner, my love,” Anne inhaled deeply. “Pretty soon I’ll get hot from this smell alone.” She pressed a kiss to Ann’s cheek. “We’ve got to go downstairs.”

“Forget it,” Ann whined. “Let them order pizza or something.”

“That’s the thing,” Anne pulled away with a smile, her dark eyes hinting at apology. “I already did. I thought the meeting might go long. It’s probably about to arrive.”

“Girls!” Aunt Anne’s light voice called out. 

Ann laughed and shook her head, always amazed by her wife’s supreme timekeeping skills. They reset their clothing, doing their best to avoid looking like they’d just rutted against a wall for the second time today. They walked downstairs hand-in-hand. The family tucked into their pizza, and Marian explained her backgammon plan. Ann failed to suppress her giggles at Anne’s exaggerated eye rolls.

“Is it not enough,” Anne said dryly, “that we are all here together? Must we have camp activities as well?”

“I think it would be fun,” Marian answered stiffly. 

“I do too,” Aunt Anne piped in.

Anne harrumphed. 

“So we’ll start with two boards, and I think I have it laid out so everyone gets to play everyone.” Marian consulted a wrinkled sheet of paper.

Ann snuck Argus a piece of her crust, and Anne kicked her under the table. Ann shrugged helplessly; she couldn’t resist the poor boy. He was sitting so politely. Anne laughed and rolled her eyes again. This was quite possibly Ann’s favorite part of any meal - her silent conversations with Anne, the ones only they were privy to. This connection was just as intimate as making love, in her mind; it relied on their mutual understanding, the series of looks and gestures and touches that comprised their own language. Ann was still riding this high as they made their way to Marian’s backgammon set-up in the living room. 

“First is Big Anne and Father, and Little Ann and Aunt. I’ll keep track of who wins, so we can know the ultimate winner.”

Aunt Anne was a bit of a backgammon shark, as it turned out. Ann found her strategy was to worry over every move, ask for advice, tell long and rambling stories; after a while, Ann was surprised to find Aunt so far ahead. She hadn't even noticed the slow advance of her checkers, until it was nearly too late. 

“Snatched from the jaws of victory,” Aunt Anne laughed ruefully as Ann secured her win. 

“First round to Little Ann,” Marian scribbled on her paper, “and Big Anne. Wonders never cease.”

“I’m good at this game,” Anne protested.

“Right,” Marian winked at Ann, who giggled. “Now it’s Aunt Anne and me, and Father and Little Ann.”

“And what do I do?” Anne lamented as Ann bumped her out of her chair. 

“Try to entertain yourself for once,” Marian answered dryly. 

Anne clicked her tongue and sauntered out of the room. Ann turned to the game at hand. She would be lying if she said Captain Lister didn’t intimidate her. Not that he’d ever been anything less than friendly to her, but he was the quietest Lister. The one she knew the least, and the one she was most afraid of annoying. She felt comfortable around Marian and Aunt Anne, but she worried about getting on the Captain’s nerves. 

“You’re quite good,” he offered once they’d begun.

“Thank you,” Ann said shyly.

“I’m not, really,” he chuckled, “but I wanted to humor Marian.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ann swallowed nervously. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to trounce me, hmmm?”

Ann chuckled, but not long after, she had indeed. Captain Lister leaned back in his chair with a laugh and a rueful shake of his head. Captain Lister had the attributes of a strong player, but he moved too slowly. He didn’t see the big picture, so his path to victory was slow and meandering. Ann explained this to him, when he asked, and she found herself easing into the conversation, encouraged by his thoughtful questions. She was almost disappointed when Marian announced Aunt Anne’s win beside them. 

“Not so righteous now, are you?” Anne’s voice came from behind her. Marian scoffed and returned to her scoresheet. Ann hadn’t even noticed Anne come back in the room. “I have used my time productively and made each of you a drink. Mostly because I need a drink if I’m to continue losing at this game.” 

Anne delivered each drink, and Ann was struck by her thoughtfulness. She’d brought a white wine for Aunt and Marian, a short pour of something dark for the Captain, and something orange-y for each of them. Ann raised her eyebrows as she accepted the glass. 

“Tequila sunrise,” Anne whispered. “Reminds me of better times, hmm?” Ann flushed. “But I think I did it wrong, so - it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Ann grinned and tilted her chin, forgetting the family around them. Anne pressed their lips together just once before straightening. 

“What now, sister?”

“You play Aunt,” Marian consulted her paper, “and I’ll play Father.”

Ann spent this round perched on the floor next to Argus, stroking his belly and watching her wife. She was so easy like this, joking and concentrating and driving Ann positively wild. She still wore that tie Ann had picked out, but now she fiddled with her collar, loosening it and the knot at her throat. Something about the way she tugged at it, the veins in her hands standing out, the sliver of skin it revealed - Ann sipped at her drink to keep from climbing into Anne’s lap then and there. She imagined knocking that silly board to the ground, perching on the rickety table in front of Anne, and letting Anne ravish her until she couldn’t take any more. Her core clenched at the thought, and she tried desperately to keep a straight face. 

“Victory!” Anne crowed, turning to Ann with a grin. Ann rose on her knees and kissed her in congratulations. She was getting better and better at this PDA thing, she thought with a hint of satisfaction. “I hated to do it, Aunt, but I had to defend my honor. Can’t have Adney thinking I have no virtues at all.”

Aunt Anne chuckled with a shake of her head. Next to them, Marian pounded the table in glee.

“Result!” Marian cried, and Ann saw the resemblance between the sisters. Marian turned to her paper joyfully, and both of the elder Listers rose. “Where are you going? You haven’t played each other.”

“I have played more backgammon with this woman than you can imagine,” Captain Lister squeezed his youngest daughter’s shoulder. “She never beats me.”

“I do, in fact!” Aunt Anne protested. “In ‘83, I was…”

Their voices faded away as they hobbled up the stairs. Anne shook her head and pulled Ann into her lap. She pressed her lips to Ann’s neck once, then twice. Ann wanted nothing more than to let her continue, but she pulled away, for Marian’s sake. 

“I haven’t played against you,” Ann offered. 

“Right, let’s go next.” Marian came over to sit across from Anne. Ann tried to scoot her out of the chair, but Anne was obstinate. She wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist with a dopey smile. “Anne, move. Let the poor girl sit down.”

“She can sit right here.” Those deep brown eyes never left Ann’s.

“Give her a break,” Marian sighed.

Anne grumbled, but she stood and flopped onto the couch. Ann wasn’t sure how long she could stand Marian’s careful moves, not with Anne’s eyes boring holes in her back. She could feel her hot gaze on her skin, could practically hear the dirty thoughts running through her mind. Marian played a little faster this time around, but no more skillfully, and Ann won easily. 

“For my turn,” Anne drawled over her shoulder, “I should like to have my girl with me.” Ann stood, fiddling with her glass. Anne slid into the chair and hooked a finger in Ann’s belt loop. “For moral support.”

“Anne, really, I -”

“Go on, Little Ann,” Marian encouraged. “She’ll be distracted, and she’ll lose.”

Ann bit her lip. She really didn’t mind sitting in Anne’s lap in front of Marian; after all, hadn’t she done it during that black-and-white movie last week? She was more worried about getting too worked up, about Anne controlling herself, about making Marian uncomfortable. 

“Would it help if I told you Mrs. Lawton was almost never to be found in her own seat?” Marian said gently. “Even after she was married. It was territorial, you know? Like a dog. We didn’t even like her, and we didn’t mind.”

That settled it. She certainly wouldn't be shown up by Mariana. Ann lowered herself resolutely onto Anne’s lap, her legs hanging over one side, her right shoulder leaning into Anne’s chest, her right hand drawing shapeless patterns over Anne’s trousers. Anne’s left hand slipped under her shirt and traced over her back, and her right hand moved fluidly across the board. Ann thought surely Anne wouldn’t be able to focus like this, but she nearly won. She’d didn’t, in the end, but she came closer than Ann had ever seen. 

“You did very well, darling,” Ann soothed. 

“Not well, enough!” Marian grinned. “You and me, Little Ann. We've each won twice.”

Anne groaned and drained her glass. Ann could tell without seeing her face that she was tired of this. She tried to spur Marian on, get her to work a little faster, but it was no use. Marian was nothing if not methodical. Between the excruciating pace of the game and Anne’s hand wandering along her spine, Ann was about to burst. Marian had just sealed her victory when Anne flicked open the clasp to her bra. Ann hunched forward, embarrassed as her bra fell forward. Anne’s hand splayed between her shoulder blades.

“Good job, Marian,” Anne said coolly. “I guess you set this all up just so you could win, hmm?”

“Congratulations,” Ann managed.

“You’re very good,” Marian nodded, still reveling in her victory. 

“Guess we’d better get to bed,” Anne said, lifting her hips to jostle Ann to her feet. “Can you close up the house?”

“Sure,” Marian said, but Ann couldn’t hear her. Anne was pawing at her backside, pressing her into the wall of the hallway, stumbling them into their bedroom.

“Jesus, Pony,” Ann breathed. “That wasn’t fair, down there.”

“Wasn’t it?” Anne purred, rolling up her shirtsleeves. “I thought it was rather unfair that I had to watch you play backgammon all evening, with that sexy new hair of yours.” Ann flushed as Anne tugged at her t-shirt. “Getting along with my family? Very much a turn-on, I’m finding.” Anne slid her bra down her arms. “It’s just as well you didn’t beat Marian in the end.” She flicked open the button to her jeans. “I probably would have come on the spot.”

“You’re awful,” Ann managed, as her panties slid down her legs. 

“I wonder,” Anne purred, eyes raking over Ann’s nude form and tugging off her tie, “if you want to work on this list a little more.”

“What?” Ann breathed.

“If I might - if you might like to be blindfolded.” 

“Yes.” Arousal coursed through her veins. 

“Excellent.” Anne purred, leading her gently to the bed. Ann nestled into the pillows, and Anne crawled between her legs. “Lift your head, darling.” The black silk covered Ann’s eyes. “How’s that? Too tight?”

“No,” Ann spread her legs wider, now nearly desperate for release.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“I can’t tell you how beautiful you are.” Soft lips connecting with her clavicle. “This dark hair.” Now they were on her breast. “Your body.” Ann gasped as Anne’s wet tongue circled her nipple. “The sounds you make.” Her tongue slid across Ann’s sternum. “The way you taste.” Her mouth closed over Ann’s other breast.

It was incredible, this loss of her sight. This element of surprise in Anne’s movements, the tension in her body when Anne pulled away, as she anticipated the next place she would place her mouth - Ann was going to explode. Anne’s skilled mouth worked its way down her body, along her belly, between her legs. Ann reached out instinctively, hands grasping at the head perched between her core. She felt her release threaten to overwhelm her from the first stroke of Anne’s tongue. 

“Pony,” she breathed, “right there, please, I -”

And just like that, she was coming, already. Perhaps it was the build-up of the evening, the blindfold, or just the exquisite movement of Anne’s mouth. She barely had time to be embarrassed before Anne was at her ear.

“You taste so fucking good,” she whispered. Ann gasped as fingertips slid through her arousal. “I feel I’ve been rather rough with you today, my love.” Anne’s lips pressed to her jaw. “I’m going to take my time with you now, hmm? Do you mind?”

Ann shook her head, unable to form more than a whimper as Anne’s gentle hand moved between her legs. Her touch was so tender, Ann could almost weep. She stroked and teased Ann for what felt like hours, all the while whispering softly in her ear.

“I love you so much, Adney” - when she first circled her entrance.

“You’re so gorgeous” - when she slid a single finger inside.

“I love the way you feel” - as she started a gentle rhythm.

“I’m so lucky to have you” - as her thumb slipped over her clit. Ann dug her fingers tighter into Anne’s skin at this point. 

“This new hair, my God, Adney” - when she stretched Ann with a second finger, curling and coaxing with every thrust. 

“I can’t tell you how badly I need you” - as she started to pant, her thrusts speeding up ever so slightly. 

“Come for me, baby, I want to see you” - as she set Ann hurtling over the edge to her release. 

Ann cried out, but then Anne’s lips were covering hers, and all she could do was shudder and accept these heartbreakingly gentle expressions of Anne’s love. Anne pulled away, slowly, and Ann tried to even out her breathing. She could hear the rustling of clothes, the flattening of the bed under Anne’s weight, and then a soft tugging at her temples. Anne’s smiling face hovered above her, tossing the tie to the floor. Ann tilted her chin, and their lips met languidly. Anne had stripped off her clothes, and she balanced over Ann on her forearms, Ann’s arms around her neck, their skin grazing together. 

“How was that?” Anne asked, their faces still only inches apart.

“Good God, Pony,” Ann chuckled. “Surely you could tell.”

“Perhaps I want to hear you say it,” Anne purred, dipping her head to kiss the side of Ann’s neck. 

“It was very good.” Ann trailed her hand down Anne’s arm to the juncture of her thighs. “You’re incredibly good at that.” Anne closed her eyes at the first pass through her arousal. “I love the way you touch me, Pony.” She circled Anne’s clit. “You’re so rough and powerful and strong.” Anne nodded, rolling her hips in time with Ann’s hand. “And then sometimes you treat me like the most delicate thing in the world.” Ann pressed a bit harder. “I can’t decide which I like better.” Her lips dragged along Anne’s sharp collarbone. “I guess we’ll have to keep trying until I figure it out.”

Anne was panting hard now, her arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up. Ann pressed her hand against her shoulders, and Anne fell forward, her face buried in the crook of Ann’s neck, her hips still raised and rutting against Ann’s hand. Ann pressed her lips to every inch of skin she could reach, moving her hand desperately against Anne’s clit, wishing she could live in this moment forever. The moment when Anne gave herself over, body and soul, to her. The moment Anne lost her self-consciousness and her swaggering and her composure. The moment Anne allowed herself to be loved.

“Ann,” came the soft gasp as Anne stretched taut above her. Ann eased a few aftershocks from her, before Anne rolled to her back. They lay there, panting, for a moment. “Fuck, Ann.”

Ann grinned, rolling over briefly to kiss her wife, then slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom. She could hear Anne typing on her phone, but she didn’t push it. Anne had her ways, and she would allow them. It was pretty endearing, in all honesty, the way Anne tracked her life. She was so data-driven, obsessed with keeping records, never wanting to miss a thing. Ann found it terribly cute that she kept a little spreadsheet of their experiments. A bit analytical, but sweet. She tossed Anne her sweats as she slid back under the covers. 

“Did you wash my laundry?” Anne finished with her phone. 

“Yes,” Ann drawled. “Did you update that pesky list of yours?”

“Look, if you don’t like the list, I won’t - you’re teasing.”

“Very good, Dr. Lister,” Ann said indulgently. “You’re starting to catch on.”

Anne clicked her tongue and disappeared into the bathroom. She returned soon enough and leapt onto the bed on top of Ann. Ann giggled and tried to push her off. Anne laughed,and they wrestled for a moment, all sliding arms and knocking knees and breathless joy. Anne pinned her hands over her head and brought their lips together fiercely. Anne tasted like toothpaste, and Ann wondered briefly if they could go again. But then she pulled away with a laugh and flopped down next to Ann. 

“What was that for?” Ann turned to her side.

“I can’t get over that hair.” Anne smirked as she reached for her book and glasses. “Thank you for doing my laundry, baby.”

Ann hummed sardonically and wrapped her arms around Anne’s middle, closing her eyes and drifting to sleep to the low, comforting melody of her wife’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Let's try this POV switch again, but this time, we might get a few new perspectives...
> 
> Reminder that I know nothing about dyeing hair, so who knows if that part is accurate at all? I certainly don't.
> 
> Also, the backgammon round-robin is a little messy. I recognize that, but it's basically just an excuse to get the Ann(e)s to flirt with each other.
> 
> Again, thank you so so much for reading and let me know what you think!


	34. Anne's Friday

Anne crept into the dark morning as if she might be caught at any moment. She had every right to check on the garden. The flowers and the gravel and the hedges. She wouldn’t pull any up, not now, but she still wanted to scope it out. Ann had told her to leave it alone, but there was no harm in looking, right? Looking and counting and making a plan. It’s not like it was illegal.

By the time she climbed the stairs back to their bedroom, she had a pretty solid plan for finishing the garden. She just needed Ann’s - not permission. Approval? Blessing? She just needed to confer with her wife. That was reasonable. She could go ahead and pull the bloody hedges if she wanted; Ann couldn’t stop her. She just wanted to make sure Ann didn’t mind. 

All thoughts of the garden vanished, however, as Anne entered their room, stopped in her tracks by the sight of Ann’s nude form, bent over, drying her hair with a towel. 

“Hello,” she purred. “Is this what you do while I’m out? Stand around naked?”

“Stick around sometime and find out,” Ann teased, draping her arms around Anne’s neck. 

“I think I’d better.” Anne leaned down to kiss her deeply, steering her gently to the bathroom wall. 

Anne pressed forward, reveling in the feeling of her wife’s damp skin. As often happened, she was totally lost to her desire as soon as she'd laid eyes on Ann. Every other   
thought flew out the window; she could only focus on Ann’s lips, Ann’s body, Ann’s eyes. Something about this woman set Anne’s entire body on fire.

“How’s your ankle?” Ann whispered, stretching her fingertips up into Anne’s hair. 

“Oh, fine. Healed completely,” Anne dipped her head again, but Ann was turning around. 

“I wonder then,” she said over her shoulder, “if you might remind me, uh, of that thing you were going to - uh, you know yesterday-” Anne cut her off, her lips were already pressing behind her ear, along her neck, over her shoulder.

“Oh yes,” Anne growled, “it would be my pleasure.”

Her hips thrust forward, relishing this sudden change of pace. She’d been prepared for a sensual sort of morning, but here was Ann, turning about and asking her to - Good Lord. Anne brought one hand up to cup Ann’s breast, the other tracing over her belly. Ann moaned at the contact, and Anne didn’t even try to quiet her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she massaged Ann’s breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers; they both sighed as Anne’s hand slipped between her legs. 

“Already wet for me, my love?”

Ann moaned softly in response, her eyes slipping closed as Anne teased her entrance. Anne’s lips moved languidly - over her shoulder, down to her clavicle, up her neck; her arm moved to wrap around her waist, pulling Ann flush to her. Oh, how perfectly Ann’s slight form melded to her own. She took half a step forward, pressing Ann roughly into the wall.

“We don’t have much time,” Anne nipped her earlobe, not wanting to overstimulate her. “Do you mind?”

“God, Pony,” Ann panted, “get on with it.”

“Get on with it?” Anne growled, thrusting into her sharply. Ann cried out. “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me, darling. I’m starting to wonder who’s in charge around here.”

Anne set a brutal pace, filling Ann over and over, the heel of her hand pressing savagely to her clit with every thrust. She felt wild, half-crazed, desperate to feel Ann as closely as possible. It was rough and urgent and fast, part proving she was in charge, part acquiescing to Ann’s sharp need. After all, she had asked for this, hadn’t she? 

“Getting what you wanted?” Anne husked, her teeth digging into the juncture between Ann’s neck and shoulder. 

“Yes, Pony, harder.”

Anne’s arms ached with the effort, but she could tell Ann was almost there. They were loud now, Ann’s high-pitched cries mixing with the slap of their skin and Anne’s low grunts; Anne knew they should keep it down, but she was intoxicated by the desperate rhythm of their lovemaking ricocheting off the tile. Ann shuddered with a final gasp, collapsing in Anne’s arms; Anne pressed a kiss just behind her ear and murmured quiet encouragement until Ann’s feet connected solidly with the floor.

Anne pulled her hand away and her wet fingers hovered in the air; she was torn between diving back between Anne’s creamy thighs and holding those pink curls to her own core. But then Ann turned slowly in Anne’s arms, took hold of her wrist, and sucked the remnants of her arousal from her hand. Anne exhaled sharply, unable to form a single word, head spinning at the impossibly perfect woman in front of her; she slid her fingers out of Ann’s mouth, and Ann tugged at her belt. 

“Big Anne!” Marian pounded on the door to the hallway. “Can you come out here?”

“No!” Anne called back, trying to keep her voice steady. Ann giggled as she fumbled with the button of her jeans. 

“Anne, I’m serious. I need to talk to you.”

Anne sighed and covered Ann’s hands. There was no putting off Marian when she had that voice on. They both deflated for a moment, and Anne kissed the top of her head as she refastened her belt. 

“Coming,” she called with a roll of her eyes. “Though not in the way I would like to,” she whispered, drawing a laugh from her wife. 

Anne slipped into the hallway, and found her sister, red-faced and pouting. 

“What?” She barked.

“Do you know how loud you are?” Marian hissed. Anne blanched, pulling Marian further down the hallway. 

“What do you mean?” Ann’s breathy cries echoed in her ears.

“I mean,” Marian was still whispering, “you and Little Ann - whatever you were doing just now.”

“What?” Anne’s gut twisted. “Did anyone else -?”

“Father walked past just before I did,” Marian scolded.

“He’s deaf,” Anne said with a wave of her hand, trying to convince herself just as much as Marian.

“Well, I’m not!” Marian pushed past her to go downstairs. “Would it kill you to be a little more respectful?”

“It’s my house, Marian, and she’s my wife.” Anne tried to be resolute, but she felt the need to prove herself as she followed her sister into the kitchen.

“Other people live here. I don’t think Ann would appreciate the whole family hearing her - you know, like that. I think she’d be rather upset.”

“She’s an adult. I can promise you, she wasn’t upset a moment ago.”

“She would be, if she knew her future father-in-law was walking by.”

Anne scoffed, fuming at Marian’s blatant insertion of her nose into Anne’s private business. How dare Marian assume to know what Ann would feel in any situation. Besides, she and Ann were awfully careful, most of the time. All those swallowed moans and and whispered words and bitten-back cries. Shouldn’t they be allowed to lose control even once?

“Look, Anne,” Marian sighed. “It was one thing when it was Mariana or Tib or any of those others. They weren’t - they weren’t like real people to us. They were an extension of you. We knew why they were here, what you two were getting up to, and, as awkward as it was, we could get past some of the things we had to overhear.” Anne chewed the inside of her cheek, nodding at her sister to continue. “Little Ann isn’t like that. She’s a real person to us, someone that I think of as a friend and I know Aunt and Father are very fond of her as well. Hearing your sister having sex with your friend - well, it’s a bit different.”

Anne nodded mutely and went to the table. She supposed Marian was right. Ann would definitely be embarrassed to know anyone heard them, and Anne figured this went with the territory of living with family. Certain concessions had to be made if she was to have everyone she loved under one roof. It didn’t make her seethe any less, though, and she spent the majority of breakfast annoyed with her sister for bringing it up. Frustrated with herself for potentially embarrassing Ann. Exasperated with her ancestors who hadn’t built thicker walls. 

“Has Anne told you about her teaching me to drive?” Ann’s bright voice broke Anne from her brooding.

“No,” Aunt Anne shook her head with a smile.

“I’m afraid I gave her whiplash, poor thing,” Ann chuckled. 

“I’m surprised you don’t know how to drive,” Marian piped in. “You have a nice car.”

“Thank you,” Ann blushed. “It’s uh - the passenger seat is nice.”

The rest of the Listers laughed. Anne looked up from her cup, suppressing a smile. Ann could always rouse her, couldn’t she?

“You should have seen us - I was a menace! Anne was holding on for dear life. I was like -” Ann mimed jerking the steering wheel, “and my poor darling she was -” Ann mimicked Anne’s strained pose in the car, attempting to stay upright. 

Anne laughed, pure delight at Ann’s over-the-top movements bubbling up in her chest. The dining room filled with the melody of the family’s laughter, and Anne sighed in relief. It was worth it, being quiet, for moments like this. Everyone she cared about, right here, breathing the same air. If this wasn’t heaven, Anne couldn’t imagine what was. The meal broke up, and Anne heard her wife promise to take a walk with Aunt Anne. 

“You make me the happiest woman in the world,” she whispered into those pink curls, attempting to keep the quaver from her voice. 

Anne had one foot on the staircase when her father called out to her. She spun around to find him, as usual, walking away and mumbling over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes and followed him into the living room. 

“What?” She said loudly, trying to emphasize how few of his words she could understand.

“I want to give you something,” he dropped into his recliner, then shifted around to dig in his pocket. “Sit down.”

She perched on the very edge of her aunt’s chair, hoping this wouldn’t take very long. What could her father possibly have to give her anyway? Perhaps a repayment for the loans over the years? A small fortune he’d stumbled upon? Or was he going to light into her about this morning as well?

“Here,” he said gruffly, holding out a small black box. Anne flicked it open - a pair of silver cufflinks, carved in the shape of lions. She looked up in question. “They’ve been passed down for well, a long time now. When the men in the family get married. I know you’re not a man, but-” Anne nodded, knowing her father was doing his best. “Well, I thought you could wear them when you marry Miss Walker.”

“Thank you,” Anne tried to make her voice bright, to appear pleased and hide the way her throat tightened. When had her father ever been so thoughtful?

“I know, uh,” Captain Lister fiddled with the remote, “I know we’ve had our moments, and I know you blame me for-”

“Father,” Anne sighed and shook her head.

“Let me finish.” He held up a hand. “I know you blame me for certain things in the past. I don’t want to dredge up ancient history, but - I want you to know how pleased I am for you. For the life you've made for yourself. You have a very nice little woman there, and I-” Anne watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’m very proud of you.”

Anne bit her lip, nodded, then stood. She didn't trust herself to speak, and she knew the last thing she or her father wanted was to have some teary, sentimental moment. She pressed her lips to his bald scalp, squeezed his shoulder, and made her way to her office. Only once the door was firmly shut did Anne allow the tears to fall. The complicated web of her relationship with her father was too much to untangle, no matter how many times she’d tried. She never thought she wanted his approval in this way, but it still knocked her flat to receive it. 

She allowed herself three minutes before she straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and sat down at her desk. She spent the rest of the morning and into the afternoon working on her book and answering emails. She’d been formally announced as the next Classics Department Head, and the Dean was asking to meet with her later in the day. She swept into the hallway, intending to get a fresh shirt and a tie for the video call, but she found her sister hovering outside her bedroom door.

“Nothing naughty happening now,” Anne said dryly. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s not what I’m -” Marian clicked her tongue. “Ann didn’t come down for lunch. She’s been upset all morning.”

“What?”

“You’d better find out what’s happened.”

Anne sighed, trepidation swirling in her gut. What could have happened in the few hours she and Ann had been apart?

“Adney?” She slipped inside and closed the door behind her. 

Ann hummed softly; she was on her side in bed, her back to the door. Anne knelt on the bed behind her, her hands running along her side and thigh. 

“What’s happened? Marian said you were upset.”

“What kind of wedding do you want?” She asked softly. 

“I don’t want to talk about weddings,” Anne tried to control the exasperation in her voice. “I want to talk about what’s bothering you.”

Ann huffed, pulling away from Anne’s hands. Ah, so that was the issue.

“Is that what this is about? You want to get married?” 

“No!” Ann said forcefully, then shook her head. “I mean, yes, obviously, but -” she sat up and turned around. Her tearstained face broke Anne’s heart - how had she managed to upset Ann so much when they’d barely seen each other all day? “What do you picture when you picture our wedding?”

“I don’t know,” Anne shrugged, afraid to say the wrong thing. “Once you mentioned flowers and springtime. You and me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Anne furrowed her brow, then sighed. 

“Whatever you want, Adney. We have plenty of time. I don’t - I mean, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Your Aunt said you used to want a church wedding. Very small. And then a big reception.”

Anne looked down, biting her lip. She had told Aunt that, years ago. Her big plan once Charles died. A private ceremony with a sympathetic priest, someone to bless their union, even if they couldn’t be legally married. Then, in her youthful bravado, she’d wanted an enormous party to celebrate her ultimate victory. It all seemed so foolish now. 

“Look, when I said that, I - it was a long time ago.” Anne tried to explain.

“You don’t want to marry me in a church?” Ann dared, picking at her nails.

“No! Yes! Ann -” Anne shook her head and looked at the ceiling, searching for the right words. “When I, uh, had those thoughts and, um, ideas, I - I mean, gay marriage wasn’t even legalized yet. And I was picturing marrying the widow I’d been screwing behind her husband’s back for years. It was - it was totally different from the life I have with you.”

“But why haven’t you - why haven’t you thought about those things with me?”

“I don’t know,” Anne said, helpless and honest. “I just - I don’t know. It’s been so fast, and I - I just haven’t. It doesn’t mean - Adney, please understand that doesn’t mean I don’t want to marry you and celebrate you and share my life with you. Please.”

Anne felt her eyes watering, looking for some sign in Ann's face. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Anne took her hand, stroking her fingers, then brought it to her lips, kissing the space just below the onyx ring. Her eyes telegraphed fear, hope, apology. Yet again Anne’s past self was threatening her future - why did she have to be such a loud-mouthed git for so many years? Ann’s eyes searched her own, and then she inhaled slowly, then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Anne’ asked hopefully.

“Okay.”

Anne grinned, leaning forward to press their lips together. The kiss was brief, more of a promise than anything else. Anne grinned and pulled her back toward the headboard, wrapping Ann in her arms. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the gentle press of Ann’s weight against her chest. They breathed in sync for a few minutes. 

“I would like to have a big reception,” Anne said softly.

“Your aunt said you wanted to show off.”

“Of course she did,” Anne laughed. “Anyway, who wouldn’t want to show you off?” Ann shook her head, toying with Anne’s fingers. Anne continued earnestly, “I don’t care where we do it, as long as you’re there, hmm? You and me, Adney, that’s all. I would like to show off, of course, but it’s whatever you want.”

“We could have it at a church. If you want. Anything you want.”

“We’ll never get anywhere like this,” Anne chuckled at their indecision. “I have to go back to work, darling.” Ann whined softly in protest. “I know, but I’m expecting a Skype call. Or Zoom. Whatever it is. The Dean is calling me later, about the department. I need a tie.”

Anne slid out of bed and went to assess her options. Ann appeared at her side and pulled out a light grey shirt. Anne felt warm all over; hadn’t she just told Ann how much she wanted someone to tell her how to dress? Mariana would have spent a half-hour deriding every article of clothing in her possession before ultimately dragging Anne into bed before they could have a real conversation. This, she decided, was much better. 

“This one,” Ann brought her back to reality.

“Oh?” Anne raised her eyebrows. 

“And this tie,” Ann selected a plain black tie.

Anne grinned as she tugged her t-shirt over her head, then bit her lip as Ann buttoned the grey shirt up. She was so close, their breaths mingling in the small space between them; maybe dragging Ann to bed wasn’t such a bad idea. But then Ann tossed the black silk over Anne’s head, pulling her forward with it, pressing their lips together. Ann pulled away, fumbling. 

“Let me,” Anne laughed, covering her hands and knotting the silk. 

Anne tucked the tails into her trousers then held her arms out, eyebrows raised.

“Will I do?”

“Oh yeah,” Ann breathed.

“Keep it in your pants, Adney,” Anne kissed her chastely. “I’m off.”

Anne thought briefly of how habitually late she was going to be once she went back to work in the fall. She’d have to set aside extra time in the morning just to account for the electricity shooting between the two of them. These thoughts occupied her mind only for a few minutes, and then she was immersed in her work again. The Dean didn’t call until late afternoon, and she found herself ordering a pizza while the conversation stretched on. Normally, she would have sloughed off kitchen duty, let the family fend for themselves, but she could hardly let Ann go hungry. She heard the door open, saw the light blue of Ann’s jeans in the corner of her eye. The conversation was wrapping up, and she wasn’t sure she could handle a distraction from her wife in the middle of it.

“Yes, I understand, I’ll -” And then she did look up, almost by accident, and the breath left her body. Ann had changed her hair - it was darker now, almost as dark as Anne’s own. She was tentative and unsure, leaning against the door. Anne had never wanted another person so badly in her life. She shook herself back into reality and snapped her eyes back to the screen. 

Anne found herself rushing the pixelated version of her boss, unable to control the racing of her heart or the twitching of her hands. She needed to get Ann in her arms as soon as possible. Blessedly, he released her, and then she was closing her laptop, rising from her seat, and crashing into Ann. Their lips met fiercely for a few beats, her hands tangling in Ann’s hair, her hips pressing her firmly into the door. She broke away, panting.

“What is this?” Anne couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dark curls. How was the simple changing of a hairstyle enough to make her positively feral?

“Do you like it?” 

“Holy shit, Adney,” Anne’s eyes were glued to her hair, her fingers twisting it gently. “I think I love it.”

“Really?”

“Fuck, yes,” Anne husked. 

And then she was pressing into her again, one hand slipping between their bodies to flick open Ann’s jeans. She needed to touch her, to feel her, to bring this dark-haired beauty to a shuddering release in her arms. 

“Anne,” she moaned, pressing her head back against the door. Anne’s lips moved to her neck, relishing the pressure of Ann’s arms around her shoulders. “Please, Anne, don’t tease.”

“Whatever you want,” Anne said into her skin, thrusting into her roughly. “Every time,” she panted, “I think you can’t get any hotter, you do something like this.” Anne grazed her jugular with her teeth. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.” Ann was panting in earnest now, her hips meeting the desperate movements of Anne’s hand. “I can’t believe how good you look.” She sucked at the soft skin of her neck. “How good you feel.” She bit her earlobe. “How badly I need you.” She kissed her jaw.

Anne’s nimble fingers worked with well-practiced precision; in the back of her mind, Anne knew their dinner would be arriving any moment. Pairing that with her urgent need to possess Ann and her gorgeous hair - she felt nearly manic in her movements. Right on time, Ann’s legs were trembling, her fingers were clenching, and she was choking out a gasp as she came. Her head fell forward onto Anne’s shoulder as she caught her breath. 

“Oh, Adney, I - Good Lord, I wish we had more time.”

“What?” Ann said dreamily.

“Time for dinner, my love,” Anne inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of Ann’s new look. “Pretty soon I’ll get hot from this chemical smell alone.” She pressed a kiss to Ann’s cheek. “We’ve got to go downstairs.”

“Forget it,” Ann whined. “Let them order pizza or something.”

“That’s the thing,” Anne pulled away with an apologetic smile. “I already did. I thought the meeting might go long. It’s probably about to arrive.”

“Girls!” Aunt Anne’s light voice called out. 

Ann laughed and shook her head, and Anne smoothed her hair where she’d mussed it. They reset their clothing, doing their best to avoid looking like they’d just rutted against a wall for the second time today. They walked downstairs leisurely, hand-in-hand. The family tucked into their pizza, and Marian explained her ridiculous backgammon plan. Anne got her wife to laugh with some over-the-top eye rolls.

“Is it not enough,” Anne said dryly, “that we are all here together? Must we have camp activities as well?”

“I think it would be fun,” Marian answered stiffly. 

“I do too,” Aunt Anne piped in.

Anne was not so sure. 

“So we’ll start with two boards, and I think I have it laid out so everyone gets to play everyone.” Marian consulted a wrinkled sheet of paper.

Ann snuck Argus a piece of her crust, and Anne kicked her under the table. Ann shrugged helplessly; Anne laughed and rolled her eyes again. Ann was impossible, wasn’t she? Anne had spent most of her life setting up boundaries and demanding to have her way, and now, this tiny person had upended all of that. She might never get to have things her way again, and Anne found she didn’t even mind. 

“First is Big Anne and Father, and Little Ann and Aunt. I’ll keep track of who wins, so we can know the ultimate winner.”

Anne and her father played half-heartedly, neither of them particularly enjoying the game. Anne figured her father went along for lack of anything better to do, as well as to appease Marian, who had always been his favorite. Anne had a niggling feeling she should mention the cufflinks, but she decided not to. It was too personal and private and special to discuss over a game. Pretty soon, she’d beaten him, and he was laughing good-naturedly. 

“First round to Little Ann,” Marian scribbled on her paper, “and Big Anne. Wonders never cease.”

“I’m good at this game,” Anne protested.

“Right,” Marian winked at Ann, who giggled. “Now it’s Aunt Anne and me, and Father and Little Ann.”

“And what do I do?” Anne lamented as Ann bumped her out of her chair. 

“Try to entertain yourself for once,” Marian answered dryly. 

Anne clicked her tongue and sauntered out of the room. She could use a stiff drink, she figured, and poured herself a bourbon. It disappeared rather quickly, and then she saw the tequila. She thought of that night in the chaumière, the taste of Ann’s skin, the burn of tequila, the press of Ann’s lips. She exhaled, trying to rein in her racing heart. Damn Marian and her endless activities; how long before she could drag her wife upstairs and ravish her in the way she deserved? She attempted to replicate that drink Ann had made, but she didn’t quite get the ratio right. She shrugged, and hastily poured wine and whiskey for the rest of the family. She returned to the living room just in time to see Marian lose. 

“Not so righteous now, are you?” Anne grinned. Marian scoffed and returned to her scoresheet. “I have used my time productively and made each of you a drink. Mostly because I need a drink if I’m to continue losing at this game.” 

She distributed each glass, coming to her wife last. 

“Tequila sunrise,” Anne whispered. “Reminds me of better times, hmm?” Ann flushed. “But I think I did it wrong, so - it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Ann grinned and tilted her chin. Anne pressed their lips together just once before straightening, mindful of Marian’s words this morning.

“What now, sister?”

“You play Aunt,” Marian consulted her paper, “and I’ll play Father.”

Anne settled in across from her aunt, loosening her tie as she focused on the game. She had half a mind to let Aunt win, out of courtesy, but she felt Ann’s eyes on her. She couldn’t suppress the adolescent urge to impress the object of her desire. Besides, she couldn’t stand much more teasing from Marian. The alcohol clung to her muscles as the game progressed, and soon she was feeling that sleepy buoyancy of the perfect buzz.

“Victory!” Anne crowed, turning to Ann with a grin. Ann rose on her knees and kissed her in congratulations. “I hated to do it, Aunt, but I had to defend my honor. Can’t have Adney thinking I have no virtues at all.”

Aunt Anne chuckled with a shake of her head. Next to them, Marian pounded the table in glee.

“Result!” Marian cried and turned to her paper joyfully, and both of the elder Listers rose. “Where are you going? You haven’t played each other.”

“I have played more backgammon with this woman than you can imagine,” Captain Lister squeezed his youngest daughter’s shoulder. “She never beats me.”

“I do, in fact!” Aunt Anne protested. “In ‘83, I was…”

Their voices faded away as they hobbled up the stairs. Anne shook her head and pulled Ann into her lap. She pressed her lips to Ann’s neck once, then twice. She felt more at liberty, with the older set gone and the tequila warm in her belly. Ann wiggled away, turning to Marian.

“I haven’t played against you,” Ann offered. 

“Right, let’s go next.” Marian came over to sit across from Anne. Ann tried to scoot her out of the chair, but Anne refused. She wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist with a dopey smile. “Anne, move, let the poor girl sit down.”

“She can sit right here.” Anne husked, wanting nothing more than the comforting press of Ann’s body against hers.

“Give her a break,” Marian sighed.

Anne hesitated, but then Ann gave her a serious look. She stood and flopped onto the couch. She studied Ann’s back as they played, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the perfect curl of her hair, the sneaking sliver of skin poking out between her t-shirt and jeans. In another life, Anne would have thrown Ann over her shoulder then and there, carted her up the stairs, and ravaged her body until her screams shook the windows. This, however, was not that life. This was the life in which Anne was respectful of her sister’s warning, in which she considered the future, in which she sacrificed her present desires for the sake of her wife’s comfort. Frankly, she felt she deserved a medal for her restraint. She saw Marian’s shoulders slump in defeat, and she hoisted herself to her feet. 

“For my turn,” Anne drawled, “I should like to have my girl with me.” Ann stood, fiddling with her glass. Anne slid into the chair and hooked a finger in Ann’s belt loop. “For moral support.”

“Anne, really, I -”

“Go on, Little Ann,” Marian encouraged. “She’ll be distracted, and she’ll lose.”

Anne waited patiently. She knew Ann liked to sit on her knee, but she was aware this was a bit overtly public for her. They’d snuggled up during _Whatever Happened to Baby Jane_ , but that was different. She had nearly relented, wondering if she was putting Ann in an uncomfortable situation, when Marian piped up.

“Would it help if I told you Mrs. Lawton was almost never to be found in her own seat? Even after she was married. It was territorial, you know? Like a dog. We didn’t even like her, and we didn’t mind.”

Anne bit her tongue to avoid her habitual defense of Mary; it didn’t matter now, did it? That Anne had craved those possessive gestures? That she had paid for them dearly in coldness later on? That everything about their relationship was the stark opposite to her present situation? It didn’t matter at all, because Ann was in her lap, her legs hanging over one side, her right shoulder leaning into Anne’s chest, her right hand drawing shapeless patterns over Anne’s trousers. Anne’s left hand slipped under her shirt and traced over her back, and her right hand moved across the game board. Ann felt like her good luck charm, and she nearly won. She’d didn’t, in the end, but she came close.

“You did very well, darling,” Ann soothed. 

“Not well, enough!” Marian grinned. “You and me, Little Ann. Rematch.”

Anne groaned and drained her glass. Had Marian planned this special torture as some sort of punishment? Anne decided to pass the time by teasing Ann, her hand wandering along her spine, toying with the brand of her bra. Once Marian finally claimed victory, Anne played one of her favorite tricks - flicking open the clasp to Ann’s bra and splaying her hand between her shoulder blades. 

“Good job, Marian,” Anne said coolly. “I guess you set this all up just so you could win, hmm?”

“Congratulations.” Ann was breathless.

“You’re very good,” Marian nodded, still reveling in her victory. 

“Guess we’d better get to bed,” Anne said, lifting her hips to jostle Ann to her feet. “Can you close up down here?”

“Sure,” Marian said.

Anne practically dragged her wife out of the room, pawing at her backside, pressing her into the wall of the hallway, stumbling them into their bedroom.

“Jesus, Pony,” Ann breathed. “That wasn’t fair, down there.”

“Wasn’t it?” Anne purred, rolling up her shirtsleeves. “I thought it was rather unfair that I had to watch you play backgammon all evening, with that sexy new hair of yours.” Anne tugged at her t-shirt. “Getting along with my family? Very much a turn-on, I’m finding.” Anne slid her bra down her arms. “It’s just as well you didn’t beat Marian in the end.” She flicked open the button to her jeans. “I probably would have come on the spot.”

“You’re awful,” Ann managed, as her panties slid down her legs. 

“I wonder,” An idea struck her as her eyes raked over Ann’s nude form and she tugged off her tie, “if you want to work on this list a little more.”

“What?” Ann breathed.

“If I might - if you might like to be blindfolded,” Anne dared, her heart racing in anticipation. 

“Yes.” 

“Excellent.” Anne purred, leading her gently to the bed. Ann nestled into the pillows, and Anne crawled between her legs. “Lift your head, darling.” Anne slid her tie around Ann’s head, tying it loosely. “How’s that? Too tight?”

“No,” Ann spread her legs wider.

“Can you see anything?” Anne settled back on her heels to drink in the sight before her - the dark hair and black silk around Ann’s pale face, her flushed chest, her soft belly, the thatch of blonde hair between her legs. The contrasts were driving Anne mad.

“No.”

“I can’t tell you how beautiful you are,” Anne husked, pressing her lips to the sharp bone of Ann’s clavicle. “This dark hair.” She moved to Ann’s breast. “Your body.” She circled Ann’s nipple, relishing the gasp tumbling from her lips. “The sounds you make.” Her tongue slid across Ann’s sternum. “The way you taste.” Her mouth closed over Ann’s other breast.

She’d missed this connection with her wife’s body throughout the day. The rushed fumbles were nice - they were excellent, really, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She could spend hours tracing her tongue along Ann's body. She would happily lose days pressing her lips to this belly. She would throw her watch away if it meant a lifetime buried between her legs. Ann reached out blindly, her hands grasping at the back of Anne’s head. Anne grinned against her core; this wouldn’t take long. 

“Pony,” Ann breathed, “right there, please, I -”

And with just a few strokes of her tongue, Ann was tensing around her. She shuddered, her fingers digging into Anne’s scalp, her lips dropping breathless cries. It was heaven, this moment, and Anne hadn’t gotten enough of it. She crawled upward, nestling her long body at Ann’s side.

“You taste so fucking good,” she whispered, drawing a gasp as her fingertips slid through Ann’s arousal. “I feel I’ve been rather rough with you today, my love.” Anne’s lips pressed to her jaw. “I’m going to take my time with you now, hmm? Do you mind?”

Ann shook her head, whimpering softly as Anne’s gentle hand moved between her legs. Anne meant to enjoy her wife now, properly, with all the tenderness and patience she deserved. 

“I love you so much, Adney,” she whispered, gathering Ann’s arousal on her fingertips.

“You’re so gorgeous,” she groaned as she slid a single finger inside.

“I love the way you feel,” she said softly, losing herself in her own easy rhythm and the exquisite, clutching warmth of Ann’s core. 

“I’m so lucky to have you,” she was just on the border of panting now, working her thumb steadily over Ann’s clit, moaning as Ann’s fingers dug into the skin of her shoulders and back. 

“This new hair, my God, Adney,” she moaned, curling a second finger in with the first, coaxing Ann to her release. Her own desire swirled in her gut, but she focused instead on pressing her lips to Ann’s jaw, meeting the thrust of her hips, eliciting more of those breathy whines from Ann’s lips. 

“I can’t tell you how badly I need you,” she was panting in earnest now, unable to stop herself from speeding up. She relished Ann’s body, but now she was desperate to see her at that pinnacle of pleasure. 

“Come for me, baby, I want to see you,” she pulled back ever so slightly to watch Ann come undone - her hips lifting, her back arching, her inner walls clenching.

Ann cried out, but Anne dove down to catch her cries with her lips. She was mindful of the family, but she couldn’t bear to ask Ann to be quiet, not like this. She swallowed these audible expressions of their lovemaking, never stilling her hand, only slowing gently until Ann deflated into the sheets. Anne slipped out of bed, tugging her clothes off as if on fire. She hated being away from her wife even for this long; she crawled back over her, loosening the tie and dropping it to the floor. Ann’s eyes were so blue and soft and sweet that Anne worried she would cry. But then Ann tilted her chin, and their lips met languidly. Ann draped her arms around her neck. Anne hovered over on her forearms, enjoying the slick slide of Ann’s skin below hers.

“How was that?” Anne asked, their faces still only inches apart.

“Good God, Pony,” Ann chuckled. “Surely you could tell.”

“Perhaps I want to hear you say it,” Anne purred, dipping her head to kiss the side of Ann’s neck. 

“It was very good.” Ann trailed her hand down Anne’s arm to the juncture of her thighs. “You’re incredibly good at that.” Anne closed her eyes, pleased by the praise and the first pass through her arousal. “I love the way you touch me, Pony.” She circled Anne’s clit. “You’re so rough and powerful and strong.” Anne nodded, rolling her hips in time with Ann’s hand. “And then sometimes you treat me like the most delicate thing in the world.” Ann pressed a bit harder. “I can’t decide which I like better.” Her lips dragged along Anne’s sharp collarbone. “I guess we’ll have to keep trying until I figure it out.”

Anne was panting hard now, her arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up. Ann pressed her hand against her shoulders, and Anne fell forward, her face buried in the crook of Ann’s neck, her hips still raised and rutting against Ann’s hand. It was ecstasy, the way their slick bodies melded, their sweat sliding together, the breaths mingling. Anne felt the arousal that had been building in her all day finally gain some traction; bringing her wife to orgasm again and again had set a low fire in her belly. She’d tamped it down, controlled it, enjoyed the slow burn, but now? Now it was a wildfire, encouraged by the persistent press of Ann’s hand and the gentle sweep of her lips. 

“Ann,” came the soft gasp as she stretched taut, allowing the wildfire to consume her, body and soul. She shuddered against Ann’s soft body, lost in the recesses of that dark hair, and then she, finally, rolled over and collapsed on her back. They lay there, panting, for a moment. “Fuck, Ann.”

Ann grinned, turning to kiss her wife, then slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom. Anne reached for her phone, pulling up their grid and typing into the “Ad. blindfold” row. She’d organized it by act and then by person, abbreviated “Ad.” for her Adney and “P” for herself. She recorded the time, the location, the duration, and, in her opinion, the quality. Perhaps she would start asking Ann to help her with this last category; it would be interesting to see if they were on the same page. She had just typed “very good,” when her pajamas fell in her lap, smelling like detergent. 

“Did you wash my laundry?” Anne looked up with a smile. 

“Yes,” Ann drawled. “Did you update that pesky list of yours?”

“Look, if you don’t like the list, I won’t -” Anne noticed the glint in her wife’s eye. “You’re teasing.”

“Very good, Dr. Lister. You’re starting to catch on.”

Anne clicked her tongue and went into the bathroom. She completed her nightly rituals, enjoying the sated feeling in her gut, the warmth of fresh laundry on her skin, the pleasant ache in her muscles. An excellent day all around, she decided. Ann was propped on the pillows when she returned, just waiting for her. Anne’s heart felt like it would burst out of her chest, so full was it with affection for her woman. She couldn’t resist leaping onto the bed on top of her. They wrestled briefly, their knees and elbows and laughter bumping up against each other. She pinned Ann’s hands over her head and brought their lips together fiercely. She tasted like toothpaste, her face cream, the lingering smell of hair dye; Anne pulled away with a chuckle and flopped down next to Ann. 

“What was that for?” Ann turned to her side.

“I can’t get over that hair.” Anne smirked as she reached for her book and glasses. “Thank you for doing my laundry, baby.”

Ann hummed sardonically and wrapped her arms around Anne’s middle. Anne sighed contentedly and flipped through the book, finding their place. She only managed a few pages before Ann’s soft snores competed with her voice, and then she was asleep too, the book flat against her stomach and the woman she loved snuggled into her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Well, what did we think? Is it boring to read the same events again? It's fun for me to rewrite, to take the same words and figure out how it would look from a different character's perspective. But if that's boring for you, let me know. 
> 
> I have a thing tomorrow (nothing bad, just going to take all day), so there may or may not be a chapter tomorrow. I'll do my best, and there's the possibility I'll have a lot of downtime, but it might not happen. Just a heads up. Between Quarantine and this, we've been through 69 (shut up, perverts) chapters in this series, and here's the 70th. I am so so grateful to all of you for reading and kudos-ing and commenting. I have a lot more filth to come (still shut up).
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!! Let me know what you think!


	35. Marian's Friday

Being in charge of breakfast meant that Marian got all of her chores out of the way first thing, and then she had the rest of the day to spend as she pleased. Feeding Argus, fetching the paper, preparing the meal and cleaning up after - it only took a few hours and then she was free. She didn’t mind; in some ways, she preferred it. It also meant, however, that she could never sleep in. And now, as she blearily plated the sausages and eggs and oatmeal she’d made while she was half-asleep, she cursed her older sister for getting to spend her morning as she pleased.

Anne had brushed past her a while ago with hardly a word - typical. She was always rushing somewhere, wasn’t she? Never a “hey Marian how are you? Let me help you with that.” Go, go, go - that was Anne. 

“Is it just us?” Aunt Anne’s head poked in the doorway to the kitchen.

“I saw Father a moment ago,” Marian replies as she carried plates to the table. 

“Let’s hope he stays gone,” Aunt winked.

Marian scoffed and trotted upstairs. Her father was prone to forgetfulness; he liked to blame it on his old age, but he’d always been this way. He’d go upstairs for one thing, get caught up in some ridiculous task or other, and pretty soon he’d missed the whole morning. She heard some rustling from Anne’s room as she passed, but she ignored it out of habit. It was best, she’d found, just to think of something else when Anne was in there with one of her conquests.

“I’m coming!” Father closed his door behind him. “Just popped upstairs for my specs.”

And that’s when she heard it - the unmistakable, dirty sounds of skin meeting. The blood drained from her face as she watched Captain Lister pass the source of the noise - Anne’s bathroom door. She froze, unsure what she’d do if he made any acknowledgement of the high-pitched moans bleeding into the hallway. If her father heard his eldest daughter’s deep grunts, he made no sign of it. Marian watched him trundle down the stairs, rooted in place by the sound of her sister screwing her friend just a wall away.  
That’s what really burned Marian up - Ann Walker was her friend, too, damn it! Anne was always debasing some perfectly respectable girl (never mind Mariana and Tib, they were hopeless), but did she really have to be so vulgar? It was the middle of the morning for Christ’s sake! It was one thing, anyway, for Anne to mess around with some faceless young thing they’d never see again, but Marian was about to have to eat a meal with these two, knowing exactly what it sounded like when they had sex. She considered Ann her friend, and now she would never be able to erase the sounds her friend made in the throes of passion. 

“Getting what you wanted?” Anne’s low voice came through the doorway. 

Marian froze. If she moved, would they be able to hear her? What was she going to do if -

“Yes, Pony, harder,” and that was unmistakably the voice of her friend, Ann Walker, asking Marian’s sister to - God, she couldn’t even think it. 

What might have driven Marian downstairs in revulsion now made her inexplicably angry. As the cries of her friend and the moans of her sister grew in fervor, Marian’s anger grew in equal measure. How dare Anne pollute their hallway with this kind of filth? Ann would be so upset if she knew that anyone could just stroll past and hear her at her most vulnerable. Anne should know this. She was going to marry Ann and she didn’t even think about her potential embarrassment? Ann would positively die if she knew her future father-in-law had heard her at this intimate moment. She might never recover if she knew that Marian, at this very moment, could hear her climaxing. 

Marian wasn’t a prude, not exactly, but she had a set of standards about these things. More so than Anne, that was for sure. Sex was intensely private, only to be had in bed or (on occasion) against the wall of the stable when Thomas had on that - don’t think about that now, she scolded herself. Ann and Anne had been quiet for a few minutes now. The silence in the hallway emboldened her, and she took this opportunity to knock on the bathroom door. 

“Big Anne! Can you come out here?”

“No!” Anne called back, and Marian swore she could hear giggling on the other side of the door.

“Anne, I’m serious.” She sighed. “I need to talk to you.”

“Coming,” her sister called, and Marian could practically hear her eyes rolling. 

“What?” Anne barked as she emerged. Her hair was mussed, her shirt wrinkled about the shoulders, her belt off-center around her waist. She might as well have written it across her forehead.

“Do you know how loud you are?” Marian hissed, feeling a hint of satisfaction when the color drained from Anne’s face and she tugged Marian down the hallway.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Marian kept her voice low, “you and Little Ann - whatever you were doing just now.”

“What?” Anne’s eyes were wide, worried. Marian couldn’t deny her enjoyment at seeing her sister on the back foot like this. “Did anyone else -?”

“Father walked past just before I did,” Marian said meaningfully.

“He’s deaf,” Anne said with a wave of her hand, but Marian could see the doubt in her eyes.

“Well, I’m not!” Marian pushed past her to go downstairs. “Would it kill you to be a little more respectful?”

“It’s my house, Marian, and she’s my wife.” Anne didn’t sound so sure as she followed Marian into the kitchen.

“Other people live here.” Marian deposited dirty pans in the sink. “I don’t think Ann would appreciate the whole family hearing her - you know, like that. I think she’d be rather upset.”

“She’s an adult. I can promise you, she wasn’t upset a moment ago.”

“She would be, if she knew her future father-in-law was walking by.”

Anne scoffed, but Marian refused to back down. How could she get her sister to understand? Anne had always been so cavalier about sex that she didn’t understand how anyone else could be embarrassed of it. She surely didn’t understand how uncomfortable it would be for the family to spend time together, each of them knowing what Ann Walker sounded like in the most intimate of moments.

“Look, Anne,” Marian sighed. “It was one thing when it was Mariana or Tib or any of those others. They weren’t - they weren’t like real people to us. They were an extension of you. We knew why they were here, what you two were getting up to, and, as awkward as it was, we could get past some of the things we had to overhear.” She could see Anne was processing, so she pressed forward. “Little Ann isn’t like that. She’s a real person to us, someone that I think of as a friend and I know Aunt and Father are very fond of her as well. Hearing your sister having sex with your friend - well, it’s a bit different.”

Anne nodded mutely and went to the table. Marian sighed and followed, lamenting their breakfast was likely lukewarm at best now. Anne had that dark cloud over her head, and Father’s unending war stories certainly weren’t helping. Ann seemed to notice something amiss, but she hadn’t spoken a word. Marian pushes the sounds she’d heard in the hallway from her mind. 

“Aunt,” Marian interrupted, “I was going to start the bread tomorrow, what do you think?”

Her conversation progressed with her aunt, but Marian was focused on the wheels turning in Ann’s head. She could see her friend trying to break into the conversation, revving herself up to say something. And when she did (some story about Anne teaching her to drive), she managed to rouse Anne from her pouting. It was like watching a magician at work, creating something from nothing. Now you see Anne’s foul mood? Now you don’t!

She cleared the breakfast dishes and cleaned the kitchen. When she was finally finished, she drifted into the living room and found her father with a curious expression on his face.

“Alright, Dad?” 

“Yeah,” he grunted, shaking his head. “Of course. I’m just going to look over some things in, uh, in my study.”

“Wait,” she called as he hobbled toward the door, “would you play some backgammon tonight? If the rest of the family will?”

“Sure,” he said with a small smile, “if you like.”

Marian grinned as she flopped onto the sofa and turned on the TV. Father would generally do anything she asked, and she was pleased to have the first piece of her plan in place. The lovebirds were always doing something fun and exciting, and lately Marian felt as old as her aunt and father. She enjoyed time with Little Ann in particular, even if it meant having to deal with her sister. She knew if Father agreed, Aunt would. Then she’d get Little Ann, who, it seemed, could get Big Anne to do just about anything. 

She tried to read, but she couldn’t focus. Who was she kidding? It was time for some mindless television. She surfed into some FRIENDS reruns and sighed contentedly. She was a Monica, no doubt - organized, a little uptight, reliable. Anne was Ross - nerdy, kind of a prick, always making stupid decisions. Which made Little Ann...Rachel? Marian considered, her eyes drifting closed. Little Ann could be Rachel, she supposed; she was a bit naive, certainly very pretty, Monica’s best friend…

She woke with a start when the announcer on Captain Lister’s football match called out a goal. She smacked her lips and rubbed her eyes; how much time had passed? 

“Hello,” her father’s low voice rumbled across the room. 

“Have I missed lunch?”

“Yes,” Aunt Anne’s voice was punctuated by the click of her knitting needles. “You and Little Ann.”

“Is that right?” Marian sat up groggily, her eyes adjusting to focus on the television. This game was easily thirty years old. She sighed. “Aunt, do you want to play some backgammon tonight?”

“I don’t think so, dear. You know how terribly I play.”

“Come on, Anne,” Captain Lister cajoled. “I’m going to.”

“Fine,” she sighed, “but no teasing me, hmm? Save it for your sister.”

Marian mouthed a silent “thank you” to her father before shuffling into the kitchen to find something to tide her over until dinner. She surveyed her options as she stuffed her face with leftover carrots, handfuls of crisps, a bunch of gummy worms; by the time she’d decided to heat up some soup, she was already full. 

Then she remembered Little Ann hadn’t eaten either. That was strange. She found herself climbing the stairs. She wasn’t nosy. She didn’t hope her sister had done something ghastly, but she would appreciate Little Ann confiding in her, not to mention something to hold over Anne’s head. She rather enjoyed any opportunity to see Anne apologize and bend to Little Ann’s will. The fact that any significant wedge between the couple would mean the disruption of Marian’s budding friendship was absolutely lost on her. She just enjoyed seeing her overbearing, exhausting sister in turmoil. 

Which is how she found herself hovering outside their bedroom door, listening tentatively. If she heard those same sounds as this morning, she would be scarred, but she’d know they were getting along. If she didn’t hear anything, she would knock. 

“Nothing naughty happening now,” her sister’s low voice startled her. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s not what I’m -” Marian clicked her tongue, flushing at being caught. “Ann didn’t come down for lunch. She’s been upset all morning.”

“What?”

“You’d better find out what’s happened.” Marian couldn’t hide the satisfaction on her face at Anne’s worried expression.

She dawdled in the hallway, watching Anne slip into the room. Ann Walker really had shaken up their lives, she thought as she went into her own room. Marian flopped onto her bed, surveying the mess. She really ought to do something about it, but her mind kept drifting to the conversation happening down the hall. Ann did seem to suffer from fragile nerves, didn't she? Marian wasn’t certain her sister could handle that kind of frailty. She’d certainly never been very patient or gentle with Marian’s feelings. And yet, Anne was totally different around Little Ann. She was kinder, slower, funnier even. Marian didn’t actually mind spending time with Anne, so long as her fiancée was around. The sight of her cluttered bedroom started to annoy her, so she heaved herself upright.

The door to Anne’s office was closed, but the door to her bedroom was open. It didn’t hurt to peek her head in. She wasn’t nosy. 

“Fancy a rematch?” She chirped, finding Ann in that weird in-between-room Anne used as a closet.

“What?” Ann was far away, her voice dreamy. 

“I’ve organized a proper backgammon round robin this evening, will you play?” Marian asked hopefully.

“Sure.”

“D’you still like the pink?” Marian tilted her head as she studied her. The dye had almost certainly damaged her hair, and keeping it that vibrant color would be a lot of work  
.  
“I think so,” Ann said slowly. “My hair is feeling awfully dry, though.”

“I was afraid of that.” Marian felt a twinge of guilt. “I think maybe that was not the best quality dye.”

“I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“We could get some better product, hmm?” Marian strode past her toward the bathroom. “Anne has some.”

“What?” Ann laughed.

“A few months ago she thought she was going grey, so she - here it is.” Marian held up a small box. “Might come out a little lighter, on you. Or we could order something else. Go back to blonde.”

“Let’s do it,” Ann said with a smile.

Marian matched her grin, and soon the smell of hair dye filled the bathroom. It was comforting, the smells, the actions, the slow evolution of the hair in front of her. She felt a little wistful for the days she’d spent doing just this, endless hours on her feet, back aching by the end of her shift. It had more purpose, that life, but more volatility as well. Scraping together tips, jockeying for the best clients, experimenting on her coworkers.

“How do you know how to do this?” Ann interrupted her thoughts. 

“Practice,” Marian shrugged. “I worked in the theater at uni, and then I went to cosmetology school for a bit.”

“Did you?” Ann seemed surprised.

“Oh yeah.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Well, I wanted to be here with my family. Father had a knee replacement about that time, and I didn’t want some stranger taking care of him. Of course, Her Majesty didn’t approve either, so…” Marian didn’t want to disparage Ann’s partner or dredge up sisterly rivalry. Ann would probably side with her future spouse anyway, wouldn’t she? “it’s for the best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s a bit of an ass sometimes, isn’t she?”

“You said it,” Marian laughed, surprised and relieved to be on the same page. “It’s really okay. I have more time with Father and Aunt, and I manage some of the things around the house. I have my little campaigns every now and then.”

Marian meant what she said, and she really didn’t mind her quiet life at Shibden. There were times that she was frustrated, but didn’t everyone feel that way? Ann was a good, engaged listener, and soon they were discussing the local initiatives Marian had led, the charities she supported, the everyday work around the house she oversaw. Argus trotted in at one point, nuzzling against Ann’s hand and licking the leg of her jeans. It was sort of a lovely moment - Marian and her friend and her dog. She shook out Ann’s hair, assessing the dark locks now framing her pale face. She rather liked it, but she worried Ann wouldn’t. 

“What do you think?” Marian asked nervously.

“I think I like it,” Ann touched her hair. “How does it look?”

“You look great,” Marian was smiling proudly. “I think it’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” Ann grinned. “I’m going to go find Anne.”

“I’ll get my earplugs,” Marian joked, then kicked herself for teasing Ann about something that was likely to make her uncomfortable. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Ann was grinning and racing out of the room. 

Marian smiled ruefully as she cleaned up the bathroom, her eyes purposefully avoiding the purple panties in the corner, the tell-tale bottle in the cabinet, and the dirty handprint on the hall, just about the height of Ann’s head. Marian shook away the image of her sister hovering over Ann, one hand planted beside her head, the other...Marian shook her head harder. She really couldn’t go there.

Parking herself back on the couch downstairs, she scrolled through her phone. Aunt Anne was sleeping soundly, her knitting paused mid-row in her lap; Captain Lister dozed on and off, half-watching some sitcom from the ‘80s with a screaming laugh track. Thomas has texted her a few times, which made Marian rather tired. She knew she was stringing him along, but he was pretty dull, wasn't he? She couldn’t commit to him in a real way, but she also couldn’t let him go. Lovely face, no personality. Strong hands, third-grade reading level. Powerful thighs, no sense of humor. Impossibly large - no, Marian, she told herself, leave it alone. 

She drew up her round-robin plan as a distraction, and truthfully it excited her more than the possibility of an evening with Thomas Beech. By the time the doorbell rang, she had shunned him from her mind completely. She answered the door - neither of the old folks was going to do it. Dinner passed at an excruciating pace; Anne and Ann kept shooting each other these teasing looks, like they were the only ones in the room. They probably thought they were being subtle, didn’t they? Moments like these made Marian a little sad in her solitary life; shouldn’t everyone want what they had?

By the time the games started, however, Marian forgot her loneliness. It was peaceful, this family moment, and she didn’t want anything else. This was enough for her, she thought; having a husband might be nice, even a few kids, but she didn’t need them. Would she want Thomas here? The very thought made her shiver. He’d ruin everything. Being with her family, seeing her sister rage and laugh, her father shake his head and smile, her aunt roll her eyes and fiddle with her ring - it made her so intensely happy. It seemed too simple, really, to be satisfied with this life, but she was. And now Ann Walker was only augmenting this domestic bliss, adding her tinkling laughter, her shy voice, and her inexplicable ability to tame the dark moods of the mistress of Shibden Hall.

And that is how Marian found herself encouraging young Miss Walker to sit on the lap of that very mistress. Marian had spied them canoodling a moment ago, but Ann had pulled away. She wondered if Anne had mentioned their conversation to her fiancée, if now Ann would be uncomfortable in front of her. 

“For my turn,” Anne drawled, “I should like to have my girl with me.” Anne has her finger hooked in Ann’s belt loop, tugging her forward. Marian felt a little embarrassed to be seeing this; Anne’s voice and touch were so smooth. She now understood how Anne had been so… prolific. “For moral support.”

“Anne, really, I -” Ann hedged

“Go on, Little Ann,” Marian encouraged. “She’ll be distracted, and she’ll lose.”

It was true, Marian knew. Ann’s presence had a tremendous, borderline magical effect on her older sister, but sitting on her lap? There was no way Anne would be able to focus. As awkward as it might be to see her friend snuggled up like this, it was worth it to embarrass her sister on the backgammon board. Marian decided to go for it.

“Would it help if I told you Mrs. Lawton was almost never to be found in her own seat? Even after she was married. It was territorial, you know? Like a dog. We didn’t even like her, and we didn’t mind.”

This, too, was true. Mariana had put herself in just about every tawdry position possible without taking her clothes off. It was vulgar, always, and Marian had never grown accustomed to it. But as she watched Ann swing her legs across Anne’s lap and nestle her shoulder into Anne’s chest, Marian found she didn’t mind at all. It felt natural, with these too, not overtly sexual and tawdry in the way it always had with the Lawton woman. Soon Marian didn’t even notice, and she focused well enough on the game to thoroughly trounce her sister. At least, in the end, she did. 

“You did very well, darling,” Ann soothed, cutting Anne’s pout off before it even began. 

“Not well, enough!” Marian grinned, pleased with her win and the success of her little trickery. “You and me, Little Ann.”

Anne groaned and drained her glass. Marian noticed her hand moving under Ann’s shirt, but she allowed it. Ann’s normally focused gameplay was erratic, distracted, riddled with missteps. Marian managed to redeem her earlier defeat and end with a solid victory. She grinned up at her friend, who was red-faced and hunched over. 

“Good job, Marian,” Anne said coolly. “I guess you set this all up just so you could win, hmm?”

“Congratulations.” Ann was breathless.

“You’re very good,” Marian nodded, still reveling in her victory. 

“Guess we’d better get to bed,” Anne said as Ann stood up shakily. “Can you close up down here?”

“Sure,” Marian said, cleaning up the board.

She watched the couple stumble and giggle out of the room with a shake of her head. Would she and Thomas ever be like that? Hell, would she ever be like that with anyone? It seemed to her that she wouldn’t, and this realization wasn’t a sad one. She liked her life how it was. Thomas Beech was a good lay, and she enjoyed his company every now and then. As for marriage and settling down? She didn’t yearn for it in the way Anne always had. She turned off the lights, locked the doors, and mounted the stairs, as she considered the change in attitude since Anne had spent those two weeks at Crow Nest. Anne was calmer, slower, gentler. For Marian, however, finding a companion wasn’t this desperate, lifelong search for her other half; she enjoyed the company of others, but she hadn’t found anyone who enticed her to leave her family or give up her freedom. 

Passing Anne’s bedroom (Ann’s as well, she figured), Marian didn’t even begrudge her the low murmurs or gentle sighs slipping under the door. Anne and Ann had an incredible relationship, something that Marian didn’t understand, but something that she could tell was incredibly special. As the high whines of her friend mixed with the deep melody of her sister, Marian just rolled her eyes and pulled out her earplugs. She’d suffered through much louder, dirtier, and more embarrassing sounds from the other side of her bedroom wall over the years, and always from someone she didn’t like half so well as Ann Walker. It was worth it, she decided, the occasional R-rated noises, for her sister’s peace, for her friend’s happiness, for this ultimate completion of their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I physically cannot stop writing this story.
> 
> Now be straight with me - okay, maybe not straight, but be honest - are we interested in a few more rounds of this? I was thinking Aunt Anne, Captain Lister, and Argus. Or are we more interested in getting back to business aka smut? I genuinely won't be offended either way, because I keep going back and forth myself. I think there are some really fun things to explore with these secondary characters, but also, like, I know why we're here. I've had those fics where I scroll through like "do they fuck in this chapter or what." I get it. Let me know what you think, for real for real. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, and I stand by this modernization of Marian. She's a go-getter - she invites Mr. Abbot round more than once, she flirts with Thomas, she puts herself out there! But she never actually marries, and I think, to Anne, this is because Marian is so irritating. It's proof that Marian is impossibly annoying; that's her perspective. But I'm here for Marian who didn't settle for spinsterhood and actually just enjoyed being with her family and never found a dude worth giving it all up for. Agree? Disagree? Shut up already?
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!


	36. Anne and Jeremy's Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I'll understand why I have a need to do everything all the time, but for now, enjoy three chapters in a day.

Old age was a real bitch. Jeremy Lister wasn’t much for the word, but it was the truth. He used to be strong and fast and tall - well, not tall, but at least he wasn’t so stooped. His sister agreed with him. They commiserated frequently - creaky joints, diminished hearing, shaking hands. 

He snapped open the box with his father’s cuff links; the silver lions caught the weak morning light. It was important, he knew, to pass these on, but his gut still twisted with trepidation. Expressing emotions was hardly his strongest suit, and his eldest daughter had certainly inherited that trait. Still, it had to be done. In all honesty, he was tremendously proud of his daughters, both of them. Anne, however, she was something else. She had taken the world by storm, had forged her own path, and she’d never shown an ounce of fear. Jeremy had served in the army, buried four children, and watched his wife battle alcoholism, but he never knew someone as brave as his eldest daughter. Uncompromising, that was the word. Determined - sure, that worked. He wished he could say this to her straight, but he knew he never could. He’d like to write it in a letter, but he’d never been much of a writer. This was the best he could do - a physical symbol of her coming of age in the family. He shoved the box into his pocket. It was a tradition. An apology. A blessing. 

He passed Marian in the hall, but he never heard what she said. He’d learned not to turn his hearing aids on until he was out of earshot of Anne’s room. His sister had learned to get downstairs before her niece returned from her morning walk; it was just easier that way. 

The siblings united for breakfast, falling into the same old patterns they had their whole lives - trading old stories and gentle jabs. They parted ways after the meal, each taking one half of the couple. 

Jeremy managed to snag his eldest daughter just before she disappeared upstairs. She was gruff, as usual, but he pushed his irritation to the side. 

“Anne, I need to talk to you,” he turned and led her into the living room. “It’s important, and I need you to be serious.” 

“What?” Jeremy ignored the irritation in her voice. 

“I want to give you something,” he suppressed his eye roll, dropped into his recliner, then shifted around to dig in his pocket. “Sit down.”

She perched on the very edge of her aunt’s chair, and he could feel her impatience. His mind flashed briefly back to this same moment with his own father - him, young, on leave, dreaming of a wife and a family. Rebecca had been fun then, beautiful and tall and exciting. Her tendency to have a few too many drinks was endearing. A few weeks before his wedding, Jeremy's father had taken him aside, explained the facts of life (as if Jeremy didn’t know them), then presented him with the symbol of Lister masculinity.

“Here,” he managed, trying to keep his voice even. “They’ve been passed down for well, a long time now. When the men in the family get married. I know you’re not a man, but-” God, how was he going to do this? “Well, I thought you could wear them when you marry Miss Walker.”

“Thank you,” Anne said genuinely.

“I know, uh,” this was the hardest bit. This wouldn’t mean anything if he didn’t acknowledge the past, “I know we’ve had our moments, and I know you blame me for-”

“Father,” Anne sighed and shook her head.

“Let me finish.” He held up a hand. He knew he had fallen short with his eldest; Sam was so easy, so similar to himself. Anne was impossible, unpredictable, exhausting. He didn’t know how to handle girls anyway. He’d done better with Marian, but he couldn’t rewrite Anne’s childhood. “I know you blame me for certain things in the past. I don’t want to dredge up ancient history, but - I want you to know how pleased I am for you. You have a very nice little woman there, and I-” He swallowed dryly. “I’m very proud of you.”

Anne bit her lip, nodded, then stood. Jeremy was grateful she’d gone, hadn’t pushed it, had accepted the cuff links and the gesture. They understood each other like this; it was easier to leave things unsaid. Neither of them could stand to show emotions, so they just didn’t. In cases like this, they didn’t need words. Jeremy knew the effect his gift would have on Anne, and he fancied she understood the meaning behind his giving it. 

Meanwhile, Anne Lister (senior) was reflecting on her good luck in nieces. She had a full set, didn't she? One loud and brash and exceedingly gentle with her. Another was a homebody, thoughtful, but a little more prone to worry and overthinking. And this one, the newest edition, she was quiet and kind and more difficult to predict. Anne was taking great care to ease her out of her shell. Today’s plan: introducing the wedding topic. Her niece Anne always needed a bit of prodding every now and then, but she hadn’t even started planning. Surely that was something a young couple should spend time on. It didn't hurt to give Ann a little nudge, a reason to bring it up to her fiancée.

Perhaps she’d pushed Ann a little hard, based on her total disappearance for the rest of the afternoon. But it needed saying! In some ways, her eldest niece was still treating this like a fling, not planning for the future at all. It would never do. She needed a bit of a push, perhaps from her fiancée, to set concrete plans. Anne Lister the younger had a rather nasty habit of self-destructing, and her aunt would not have any part of it. She’d already adopted Ann Walker as her own. If it took a bit of interference on her part to force these two to lay down a proper set of plans? That's how it would have to be. 

The rest of the evening only confirmed the necessity and success of her needling. The couple were making bedroom eyes at each other all evening - just because she was old, that didn’t mean she’d forgotten what bedroom eyes looked like! And those, she thought smugly, those were certainly bedroom eyes. Sticking her nose in like that was the only way to ensure this whole thing didn’t go up in smoke. If she locked this down, the couple would be at Shibden in the long term. And that was the ultimate goal. 

“We’ve escaped,” Jeremy joked as they hobbled up the stairs to bed after the unending backgammon.

“I don’t know how Marian convinced you, or how you convinced me!” Anne laughed. 

“”She’s a good kid,” Jeremy said, trundling down to his room. 

Anne shook her head as she went into her own bedroom; her brother had always been wrapped around Marian's little finger. Anne had played the young lovers rather well today, hadn’t she? Soon they would be married and properly settled, and Anne would have all her nieces under one roof. She congratulated herself for a job well done as she prepared for bed, lamenting the myriad pills and lotions and creams she now used to keep herself upright. Where had the time gone?

By the time she stretched out in bed, she could hear the low tones and bright giggles of her nieces in the hall. She shook her head, turning on her white noise machine. Better to be proactive, she thought as she heard the bedroom door close, than to spend all night trying to scrub those sounds from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> This one was a toughie, because I only had sections of each perspective I wanted to share. I didn't want to go through a whole day for Aunt Anne or Captain Lister, but I didn't want to miss the opportunity to share these specific moments that bumped around in my mind.   
> Of the three chapters today, this one feels the weakest. Soooooo if you hate it, just go to the next one.


	37. Argus's Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this? This is very silly.

Here’s the deal - y’all don’t give dogs enough credit. That’s a fact. Everybody writes us off like we can’t speak properly, and honestly? It’s offensive. I know all the names of the people in my family - there’s my mom, Marian; she’s the one who feeds me and lets me outside and makes sure I get a bath. Then there’s Father, or sometimes he’s called Captain or Jeremy; he likes to sit in front of the fire just like I do. There’s Aunt; she’s older, and sometimes Father calls her Anne, but that’s confusing. Aunt Anne. It’s like saying the same word twice. Then there’s FuckingAnne, which is what Mom calls that dark-haired lady. She’s not around very much, except for lately. She’s pretty rude, and I know Mom doesn’t like her. But she brought LittleAnn, and I really like her. LittleAnn gives the best scratches - don’t tell Mom - and she lets me get in bed with her. Until FuckingAnne comes back and then I have to go downstairs. See? She’s the worst.

Anyway, something is up lately because they’ve all been home. All of them. All the time. I’ve heard all dogs go to heaven, but I’m already there. And today was especially good. 

First, Mom came down and made my breakfast. WHICH IS THE BEST. I have the same thing everyday, but it’s so good I don’t even mind. Then she started making the humans’ breakfast. Mom is way nicer than Cordi, who’s usually in charge of the food; she never gives me anything. Mom kept dropping stuff, so I, like any good son, helped her clean it up. 

Mom left the food unattended for a while, and I had almost snagged it when Aunt saw me. Too bad. I went upstairs, and I saw Mom in the hallway. She seemed pretty annoyed, and then I figured out why. LittleAnn was hurt! I could hear her yelling, and FuckingAnne was clearly behind it. She was grunting too, kind of like she does when she’s working in the garden. Whatever she was doing to LittleAnn, it took a lot of effort. LittleAnn was making more noise. I was going to start barking, but then Father showed up. I figured he and Mom could handle it. Besides, if everyone was up here, who was guarding the sausages? 

I went downstairs, but Aunt bopped me on the nose for getting too close to their food. She can be kind of strict. Then Mom showed back up, talking to FuckingAnne. They seemed kind of annoyed, and neither of them paid attention to me. Boring.

When they finally sat down to eat, Father gave me almost all of his sausages. I wish he’d just give me my own plate, but this is pretty good too. FuckingAnne seemed kind of annoyed, but then LittleAnn said something and everybody laughed. That’s why she’s my favorite. Besides Mom, of course. 

I did my morning patrol with Aunt and LittleAnn. They walked really slow, but I thought it was nice of them to try to help. Nothing to report today. The grounds are safe. No doubt because of my excellent guard dog work.

Then I took a nap.

It’s hard work being a guard dog, okay?

When I woke up, Father and Aunt were talking. Sometimes if I hang around when they’re awake, they’ll give me treats just because I’m a good boy. Which I am, obviously. But sometimes I’m not.

“How did she take it?” Aunt asked. 

“Oh, you know OurAnne.” That’s another name for FuckingAnne. Mom doesn’t use it that much. “She didn’t say much, but she appreciated it.”

“Wonder where she got that from,” Aunt laughed, reaching for the treat jar. I sat up as straight as I could. 

“Be quiet, you.” Father stroked my head. “I’ve done it and I’m pleased and we can all move on.”

“I’m proud of you.” Aunt gave me a treat. I know she was talking to Father, but I’m the one who got that beefy goodness. “I know Father would be proud too.”

They must mean their father, I figured, but I decided not to ask. They get so mad when I start talking. 

“I thought I heard them, this morning,” Aunt said softly. “And then Marian was taking OurAnne to task about it.”

“Was she?” Father laughed. “I saw her in the hall this morning, with that look, you know how she gets.” He made a face that, if I weren’t such a loyal dog, I would have to admit was pretty accurate to how Mom gets when she’s upset. “I’ve learned not to turn on my hearing aids until I’m past Anne’s door.”

Aunt laughed, and Father did too. I got one more treat, and then she closed the jar. 

I trotted upstairs, following the stinky color smell. Mom used to smell like it all the time, but now she hardly ever does. She and LittleAnn smelled a few days ago, and then her hair was different. Now, I found them upstairs with that same smell swirling around them. LittleAnn pet me a little, but she was more focused on whatever Mom was doing to her head. I could tell LittleAnn was nervous - like all dogs, I’m very intuitive - so I gave her a lick on the leg to let her know I liked it.

The rest of the day was really busy. I did my afternoon patrol, scared off a few birds and a lizard, then recovered my strength on the living room rug. I got up just in time for dinner; they’d ordered pizza. As usual, no ordered me one. Rude. LittleAnn gave me some of her crust, and that’s why she’s my favorite. Don’t tell Mom.

I did an evening patrol, and then I settled in for some scratches. Everyone was all busy doing something on some tables, and LittleAnn was the only one who snuggled with me at all. I love Mom, but she’s really slacking off in comparison. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but let me tell you, LittleAnn is really good at snuggling.

By the time I woke up, all the humans had gone upstairs. I went up there to see if anyone’s door was open - sometimes a fellow likes to sleep in a real bed, you know? Everybody’s door was closed. Disappointing, but not surprising. I paused for a moment, hearing those same sounds from LittleAnn and FuckingAnne again. Was she okay? The noises tonight seemed - gosh, she seemed pretty happy. I trotted downstairs, shaking my shaggy head. Humans are so weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I wanted to weave Argus into the Aunt Anne/Captain Lister situation, but I couldn't make it work. I wrote his bit all in one go, and then I didn't really want to change it. It's a little out there, compared to the rest of the story, but I think it's fun? Hopefully? It's dumb, but we all need dumb sometimes. Anyway, if you don't like it, the next chapter has smut, so head on over there ;)


	38. Saturday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to business as usual, my friends. Smut, smut, smut.

“Anne, quick!” 

And then that familiar black box struck her squarely in the face. 

Anne looked up, caught the box on its descent, and found her wife hurriedly closing the door to her office. She was still getting used to the dark color of her hair, and the sight of it alone sent a jolt of arousal between her legs. Not to mention Ann currently hopping on one foot in an attempt to tug off her jeans. 

“What’s all this?” Anne asked, bemused at her wife’s urgency.

“Our family,” Ann was panting, slipping off her panties and climbing into Anne’s lap and straddling her, “they’ve gone.”

“Gone where?” Anne set the box on her desk and wrapped her hands naturally around Ann’s waist.

“For a drive,” Ann brought their lips together fiercely. “Marian’s taken them.” She kissed Anne again, tilting her head to slip her tongue into Anne’s mouth. “They’ll be gone an hour.”

“And your first thought was…” Anne quirked an eyebrow.

“My first thought was you up here in this office, with those bloody glasses on.”

Anne chuckled and rolled her eyes. How lucky she was to have such an insatiable wife. Their lips met again, just as passionately. Anne let her hands drift up Ann’s torso, into her bra.

“My second thought,” Ann’s eyes slipped closed, “was the strap. You’re welcome.”

“Are you telling me,” Anne purred, massaging Ann’s breasts slowly, “that you went out,” she rolled her hips upward, knowing how deliciously rough her jeans would be against Ann’s core, “and retrieved this box,” she dipped her head to suck at Ann’s neck, “just so I could fuck you,” her right hand slid down to the apex of Ann’s thighs, “in my office? In the middle of the morning?” She ran her finger through Ann’s wet folds.

“Yes,” Ann gasped. “Yes, Pony, yes.”

“Naught girl, Miss Walker,” she purred, circling Ann’s clit before teasing her entrance.

Ann was nodding and whining now, her eyes shut tight in desperation. Anne was surprised at her urgency, but she meant to take full advantage. An empty house, the strap, her needy wife? Sometimes, she swore, it was like Ann Walker stepped right out of her fantasies. 

“You’re so wet,” she husked as her middle finger slid inside. “You feel so good.” She started a gentle, curling rhythm. “I love you so much.”

Ann whimpered, her forehead now pressing into Anne’s shoulder as her hips rolled in her lap. Anne grinned, pressing her lips to the back of Ann’s ear. Her wife was particularly susceptible to words like this, praise and comfort and tenderness. Not that Ann wanted it gently, Anne thought as she stretched her entrance with a second finger, not right now. Often enough, Ann liked to be soothed and cooed over, even as her hips bucked wildly and her clutching hands pulled Anne closer.

“Right there,” Ann moaned, fingers digging into Anne’s shoulders. “Please, ri-”

Anne thrust in harder, finding that exquisite spot in Ann’s clutching depths. She moved faster, Ann’s desperate cries bouncing off the walls around them. Ann was riding her harder now, arms wrapped around Anne’s back, chin hooked over her shoulder; Anne splayed her free hand across Ann’s back, pulling them flush, reveling in the firm press of Ann’s breasts against her own. 

“That’s it, darling,” she tried to keep her voice steady, even as her arm burned and her heart raced. “I’ve got you. Come on, my love, come for me.”

As if on cue, Ann exploded. It started in her hips, jutting frozenly forward. Then traveled up her spine, sending shudders and trembles through her body. Then it was leaving her mouth in the form of exhaled moans. Anne managed to pull a few more of these delicious sounds from her wife before pulling away. 

“Good Lord,” she chuckled at the sight of Ann’s flushed face. “I’ll have to thank Marian for clearing the house.”

Ann laughed and rolled her eyes, tilting her chin. Anne caught her lips in a slow, searching kiss. It was about reconnecting, this moment, about stabilizing their heart rates and emotions before starting up again. Not to mention, of course, giving their aching muscles some time to recover. Ann cupped her face, her fingertips teasing the edge of her hairline; Anne settled her own hands on Ann’s waist, kneading the supple skin of her hips.

“Ready?” She whispered. 

Ann stood, by way of an answer, and Anne swallowed dryly at the sight of her - hair disheveled, skin flushed, hard nipples poking through her t-shirt, bra bunched up just below, totally bare from the waist down… A trance fell over her, and she barely noticed as Ann hoisted her upright and set to work at her belt and button. She was finally roused when Ann shoved her jeans and her boxers to the floor.

“Come on, Pony,” she pulled their bodies flush. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Well, she was certainly awake now. Anne crashed their lips together, all desperate tongues and sharp teeth; she held Ann to her with one arm, while the other reached out for the strap. Ann broke away, panting, and watched as Anne fit the harness over her hips. She was just getting the cock right when Ann’s shirt hit her chest; Anne looked up to find Ann sliding her own bra down her arms. Anne’s heart skipped a beat - her wife, naked, in her office. It was almost too much.

“Fuck,” she groaned, wrapping Ann in her arms again. “How are you so gorgeous?”

Ann giggled into their kiss, her arms wrapping around Anne’s neck, one hand toying with her collar. Pressing forward, Anne led her wife to the edge of her desk; one arm wrapped around her slender waist, the other reaching behind her to knock papers and books and notebooks to the floor. Ann pulled away and clicked her tongue. 

“Pony,” she sighed, “you’re making a mess.”

“Adney, come on.”

Ann turned around, leaning over the desk and pushing everything to the far end. Her pale back, her round ass, the expanse of her lithe body stretched in front of Anne - she wasn’t really expected to resist, was she? Anne stepped forward, her cock fitting easily between Ann’s legs, her hands wrapping around her hips. 

“You’re right, my love,” she husked, her hands running up Ann’s sides. “This is better.”

“Yeah,” Ann sighed.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” Anne said lowly, “since we were at Crow Nest.” She wrapped one hand around the cock, dragging it through Ann’s wet folds. “How good you would look like this. How much I wanted to,” she slid the tip inside, “fuck you.”

“Pony,” came the soft moan. 

“And I’ll tell you what, Adney,” her hips slid forward gently, “it’s so much better than I imagined.”

“Yes!” Ann cried as the final inch of Anne’s cock filled her. “I’ve been,” Anne eased out slowly, “thinking about that too.”

“Have you?” Anne paused.

“Yes,” Ann whined. “You taking me,” Anne thrust forward gently, “over this desk. Hard.” Anne pulled back. “Rough.”

That’s all she had to say. Anne took off - splaying one hand across Ann’s spine, keeping them both steady, the other wrapping around her hip, thumb fitting into the divot at the small of Ann’s back. She set a punishing rhythm, taking her wife as hard as she ever had, hips rutting furiously. Ann cried out, sharply at first, then lower in her throat as her release built; soon she was pressing her hips back into Anne’s, meeting every thrust and sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. Anne couldn’t resist - with one hand still flat on Ann’s back, she slapped her ass lightly. 

“Yes,” Ann moaned, pushing her hips backward.

Anne placed a matching spank on her other cheek. Another moan. She grinned; how could one person be so perfect? She interspersed these light slaps as she pounded into her wife, feeling her own arousal growing just from the sight, the sound, and the infrequent brush of her clit against the harness. 

The room filled with the slick meeting of their skin and the wild moans pouring from Ann’s lips; Anne could tell she was nearly there.

“Pony,” Ann’s voice bordered on a scream. “Yes, Pony, right - yes, Pony, fuck, yes, make - fuck,” Anne’s hand snaked around to strum frantically at Ann’s clit. “I’m so close, Pony, fuck, Pony, I’m going to -”

And then she was. Her inner walls clenching, her back arching, her pretty little mouth dropping the filthiest string of obscenities. Anne stilled, easing her down gently, until she could pull out. Still panting, Ann rolled over onto her back, looking up at Anne like she’d hung the moon and every star. What choice was there? None but to bend forward and catch those soft lips. 

Anne stretched one arm above Ann’s head, balancing on her forearm. Their lips met languidly; Ann had an edge to her, but Anne wanted to go slowly. She calculated they still had fifteen minutes at the very least. If they kept going at this breakneck speed, she’d be done in less than five. 

Her wife didn’t seem to care, however, and she felt the buckles after her hip loosening.

“Hold on, baby,” she whispered, leaning back a little.

“Go sit down,” Ann soothed, running her hand down Anne’s arm. 

Anne furrowed her brow, amused, but she straightened and sank into her office chair. She sucked oxygen into her burning lungs, trying to still her racing heart, as she watched Ann struggle to heave herself upright. She righted herself with a grunt and a giggle, then dropped her feet to the ground, sauntering to park herself between Anne’s legs. Anne raised her eyebrow in question, swallowing dryly as her wife sank to her knees. 

“You’re so good,” Ann whispered. “You treat me just right, baby.” Anne’s core clenched at the moniker. “Let me take care of you.”

And then Ann did the unthinkable - she took Anne’s cock in her mouth. Not the whole thing, sure, but enough to stop Anne’s heart. 

“Holy shit,” Anne hissed, watching her wife - her innocent, sheltered, blushed-at-the-word-sex wife - drag her tongue in long swaths along the pink silicone, licking it clean of her own arousal. Anne thought she might faint. 

“I'd been thinking about that,” Ann said shyly, tugging at the buckles again. 

Anne nodded, eyes wide, as she lifted her hips so Ann could slide the harness off. Ann pressed her lips to the inside of her knees, along her thighs, across her hip bones; Anne licked her lips and scooted forward, nearly vibrating with need.

“Adney,” she moaned at the first pass to her clit. Her hands clamped around Ann’s head, fingers tangling in those perfect, dark locks. “Don’t - please, baby, don’t tease.”

Ann hummed against her center, her tongue still moving achingly gently. Anne groaned, lifting her hips, pulling Ann closer.

“Come on.” Her voice sounded whiny to her own ears. “Please, Adney, I need you.” 

The pressure between her legs increased - ah, Anne’s pleasure-soaked brain finally processed it: Ann wanted her to beg.

“Please, baby, please.” Ann took her clit between her lips. “Yes, right th- come on, Adney, I need you.” Ann worked faster now, her hands running lightly up and down her thighs; Anne’s eyes slipped closed. She lost herself to the heat building in her gut, the exquisite strokes to her core, the euphoria threatening to overwhelm her. “Yes, Adney, I need you, I ne- yes, baby, yes.” 

And then she was coming, stretching taut and shaking as her release washed over her. Ann’s patient tongue eased every drop of pleasure from her, until she released her head with a satisfied sigh. Anne fell back against her chair, sagging with relief; light kisses were pressed to her thighs, over her shirt-clad chest, along her neck, under her chin, across her lips. Anne opened her eyes slowly, finding Ann back in her lap, a proud smile tugging at her lips.

“Right proud of yourself, are you?” Anne teased.

“And what if I am?” 

“I don’t know what I’ll do with you, my love.”

“You can take me to Crow Nest.”

“What?” Anne’s stomach dropped.

“No, no, Pony,” Ann smoothed her collar. “Not like that. I’ve ordered some packages, but I forgot to change the address.”

“Naughty packages?” Anne purred, pulling her closer.

“No,” Ann drawled. “Clothes, actually. Some for me. Some for you, in fact.”

“Really?” Anne couldn’t help feeling a little warm at the gesture. 

“Yes. None of it black,” Ann bit her lip cheekily.

“Excellent.”

“So you’ll take me over? Perhaps we could, um,” Ann flicked her eyes to the discarded strap, “pack a few things.”

Just as Anne opened her mouth to reply, a car door slammed. Anne could feel her eyes widening, mirroring the expression on her wife’s face. They giggled, Ann slipping off her lap and searching for her clothes. Anne scrambled for her boxers, tossed the strap in its box, replaced the crumpled papers on her desk. Ann had just tugged her shirt over her head as the door swung open. Anne slid forward, hiding her boxer-clad legs under the desk.

“We’re back,” Aunt Anne said brightly. “What have you girls got on for today?”

“Going to Crow Nest,” Anne said coolly. “Ann has a few packages to retrieve.”

“Sounds lovely,” Aunt smiled, “but don’t you think, Anne love, you should put some trousers on before you go?” 

Aunt nodded meaningfully to Anne’s jeans puddled on the floor, then shut the door. Ann and Anne locked eyes for a long moment, then burst out laughing. Good Lord, Anne thought as she wiped her eyes, at least her life wasn’t boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you especially if you went back and checked out what Aunt Anne and the Captain and Argus got up to on Friday. I really appreciated all of your generous comments on Chapter 35. Y'all really made some convincing points, so I couldn't decide what to do. In my typical fashion, I did everything. Good heavens. 
> 
> That was another little experiment of mine, but I'm not very confident in it. So, I consoled myself by doing something I am much more confident in - writing some filth. VerseTop reminded me lately that Anne had fantasized about bending her wife over her office desk, so... of course I had to make good on that promise. Here we are. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	39. Saturday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a rush on the editing of this one, but at least it's, like, super dirty?

Ann’s heart skipped a beat when the doorbell rang. It was kind of silly, was’t it? Pretending not to know who was at the door, acting like she and her wife hadn’t spent ten minutes wiping down all the packages and loading most of them into the back of her car, then waiting around while Anne did something in the bedroom and slipped outside. 

“Package,” Anne said lowly when she answered the door. She had a baseball cap on and held a small box in her hands; she still wore the dark collared shirt and jeans from this morning, but her demeanor was different. She had that fiendish smirk on, her eyes dancing as they raked over Ann’s body. 

“Thank you,” Ann said breathlessly, “could you bring it inside?”

“Of course,” Anne did that thing with her jaw and stepped over the threshold. Ann closed the door behind her, leaning against it. Anne dropped the box on the entryway table, then sauntered back to her. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“You seem very strong,” Ann offered, her breathing speeding up. Anne shrugged. “Lifting all those packages, all day long…”

“Sure,” Anne stepped closer. 

“Do you ever...” Ann worried she was fumbling this whole set-up; how could she get Anne to touch her?

“I lift all kinds of things,” Anne offered; Ann smiled at her generosity. “I bet I could lift you.”

“Really?” Ann whispered. 

Want to find out?” Anne asked. She was so close now her hot breath caressed Ann’s face. 

“Yes.”

And just like that Anne’s strong arms lifted her into the air. Ann wrapped her legs around Anne’s waist by habit; she gave half a thought to her character - would she really be so bold with a stranger? Sod it, she thought, why deny herself?

“I guess I can,” Anne purred, pressing Ann into the solid wood of the front door. “Anything else you’re wondering about?” Anne’s hips pressed forward; Ann’s stomach lurched - she was wearing the strap. 

“Kiss me,” Ann breathed.

Anne grinned as she brought their lips together, her hands flexing under Ann’s thighs, her hips grinding slowly. Ann fisted one hand in Anne’s collar, the other running up and down her strong arm. She could feel the slow burn of her arousal growing; perhaps Anne would take her right here. 

“Anything else?” Anne pulled away with that infuriating smirk.

“What?” Ann tilted her head forward, trying to catch Anne’s lips, but she was just out of reach. 

“You asked me to kiss you, ma’am, so I did.”

“Oh my -” Ann groaned. “Come on, can’t you-”

“Can’t I what?” Anne’s eyes danced with mischief. 

“Put me down.” Ann swallowed, deciding to try being a little saucy. If Anne could tease her, she could tease right back. Anne complied, confusion flashing across her face. Ann hooked her fingers in the waistband of Anne's jeans. “Now ask me that question again.”

“Anything else, uh,” Anne’s eyes traveled between the hand at her beltline and Ann’s composed face. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“You can fuck me,” Ann pulled her closer, “right here against this door.”

“Can I?” Anne grinned.

Ann couldn’t help matching her grin as she tugged at Anne’s jeans, shoving them open, finding the pink cock beneath. Ann looked up, her heart racing; Anne waggled her eyebrows and adjusted the harness. Slipping off her own bottoms, Ann found she was shaking with desire. The sight of Anne’s cock, standing proudly between her dark jeans, frankly,it was almost more than Ann could handle. She put her hands on Anne’s shoulders and pressed down, giving Anne no choice but to catch her legs. 

“Holy shit, Pony,” she whispered as Anne pressed her into the door, balancing carefully as she passed the strap through Ann’s folds. “I want you so badly I can’t even -”

As the head slipped inside her, Ann couldn’t stop the gentle sigh slipping from her lips. Anne was so good at this, easing into Ann; she was so controlled and measured and tender. Comparing that with the rough way she wielded the strap once she was inside? It was intoxicating. 

“Up against a door, Miss Walker?” Anne husked, her hips moving forward steadily.

“Yes,” Ann whimpered, the rough edges of Anne’s jeans brushing her inner thighs as their hips met. 

“In the middle of the afternoon.” Anne’s hips eased back.

“Yes.” Ann clutched her shoulders tighter.

“Did you not get enough this morning?” Anne pushed back in, a little faster this time. 

“No.” Ann closed her eyes and bit her lip, relishing the exquisite pressure between her legs. 

“What’s that, Miss Walker?” This pace was excruciating. 

“No, I -” Anne’s teeth connected with her neck. “I didn’t - oh, Pony.” Anne’s thrusts were faster now, steadily filling Ann over and over. 

“Say it, baby.” Anne’s breathless growl only made Ann wetter. 

“I can’t get - yes, Pony, I-” Ann moaned through their favorite game, this trading of dirty words and whimpered sentences. With every interrupted thought, her release coiled tighter in her gut. “I can’t get enough of you,” she gasped as Anne’s hips rolled into her harder, faster.

“That’s it, darling.” Anne’s hot breath burned in her ear. “I can’t get enough of you either. Fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Ann whimpered at the praise, at Anne’s brutal pace, at the firm press of the door behind her. Between the cool wood at her back and the hot press of Anne’s skin, Ann was certain she couldn’t handle much more of this. Anne’s hips were merciless, tireless, but her words were gentle, encouraging. Her hands dug into the skin of Ann’s legs, holding her up, but her lips caressed her neck, her chin, her clavicle. It was everything, all at once, but still, something was missing. 

“Touch yourself,” Anne’s lips brushed her ear. “You’re so close, baby; I know you are. Just a little more, right, baby? Just a little bit more.”

Ann nodded, the back of her head scratching against the door behind her; she managed to snake one shaking hand between their bodies, finding her aching clit. She couldn’t hold back her cries any longer, not as she first drew circles around the tight bud of her need, not as her fingertips slipped and brushed against Anne’s cock, wet from her own arousal, and certainly not as they started to move in tandem, their movements syncing as Ann careened over the edge. 

She came with a broken cry, shudders racing along her spine and warmth spreading from her middle to the tips of her toes and the crown of her head. Anne muttered softly in her ear throughout, pausing only to press her lips to her neck; after a beat, she eased out slowly, gently lowering Ann to her feet. Ann stretched upwards to catch Anne’s lips, one hand cupping her face, the other fumbling over the harness. 

“Let me,” Anne whispered. 

Her cheeks flushing, Ann tried to focus on the kiss, pushing aside the embarrassment at not being able to do it herself. She’d been able to this morning. It didn’t matter, however, once Anne broke away and caught Ann’s gaze. Her dark eyes blazed with need, and Ann felt emboldened again, a million miles tall, because Anne Lister wanted her. Ann brought their lips together once more, then sank to her knees. 

The floor of the entryway was hard, but she didn’t mind. All she could focus on right now was the heady scent of Anne’s arousal, drifting to her nose from that perfect juncture of Anne’s thighs. Ann inhaled deeply once, then dove forward, wrapping her hands around Anne’s hips as her tongue gingerly teased her folds.

“Ann,” was the sharp gasp above her, and the legs in front of her spread wider. One strong hand pressed at the back of her head. “Yes, baby, right there.” Anne’s hips jutted forward as Ann’s tongue focused on her clit. 

It was magical, this moment of possession. Anne may have been above her, but Ann held all the power. On the surface, it seemed like Ann had so little she could do to bring her wife pleasure; she never wanted to breach Anne’s professed “nonnegotiables,” which meant she really only had Anne’s clit to focus on, belied by occasional light strokes of her folds or kneading hands on her hips and thighs. And yet, as uneven, gasping breaths filled the foyer, Ann found it was more than enough. The great Anne Lister was reduced to a shivering, desperate mess by the curl of her tongue and the graze of her lips. Which she did now, eliciting a sharp whine and a hand slamming onto the door behind her. Anne was close, she could feel it - the tremble of her thighs, the increased pitch of her moans, the tight clench of her hand. 

With a mighty shudder and her wife’s name on her lips, Anne came. Ann continued to lap gently until the hand in her hair eased away; wiping her mouth, she sat back on her heels, taking in the sight of the wrecked woman above her. Anne had one arm still pressed firmly into the door, holding herself up; her baseball cap was askew atop a red and sweaty head. Ann could see the slick patch of skin at her throat where her shirt was parted, then the long expanse of rumpled, black material giving way to strong thighs and firm calves. Anne was grinning as she panted, her eyes still closed; she shook her head before straightening. 

“Alright?” Ann stood, watching her wife flop around to lean against the door. “Pony?”

“Yes, Adney, Good Lord,” she laughed breathlessly. “Give me a moment.” 

Ann hummed, slipped her bottoms back on, and sauntered to the kitchen. They’d cleaned out the fridge before leaving, but there were still some stray crisps and cookies and the like in the cupboard. She pulled a few bags out and munched happily, then drew a tall glass of water and drank greedily. It rather took a lot out of her, all this. Not that she minded, but - well, it was good exercise, that was for sure. 

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” Anne teased, swaggering into the room a few minutes later. “Is that your way, Miss Walker? Leaving me defenseless in your foyer, fanny just - out? Heartless.”

“Guess so,” Ann smirked, draping her arms around Anne’s neck. 

“Be careful, my love, you’re going to break my heart one day.”

Anne seemed so oddly serious, her eyes betraying her insecurity. Unable to find the right words, Ann brought their lips together, hoping her kiss could convey her love and dedication better than her words could. When they broke apart, Anne was grinning again; Ann matched her expression, pleased by how easy it was to restore her wife's massive ego.

They spent nearly an hour leaning over that kitchen island, eating and laughing and kissing. A storm was moving in, bathing the usually-bright kitchen in a cool, grey light. Anne was telling some fantastical story from her youth, all sweeping gestures and dancing eyes and insinuating tones. This was one of Ann’s favorite versions of her - part teacher, part traveler, part flirt. It was a form of foreplay, for Anne Lister, telling wild tales and edging closer and closer to the object of her desire. 

“How long before we have to head back?” Ann said, sliding one hand gently along Anne’s hip. 

“A few hours I’d say,” she twisted a finger in Ann’s hair. 

“Want to go upstairs?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They climbed the stairs together, and Ann fancied she could feel trepidation in the hand clasped in hers. What could Anne possibly have to be nervous about? The bedroom at Crow Nest was perhaps the place they’d spent the most time together, the place their relationship was really born. Once the door opened, Ann could see what had her wife on edge. 

“Don’t say anything yet,” Anne said quickly. 

Ann had frozen in the doorway, eyes trained on the bed. Streaming from the headboard were two black ropes, knotted loosely, inviting Ann’s hands. The sheets had been pulled back. Their discrete black box sat atop the dresser, along with the bottle from the bathroom cabinet. She turned to her wife, a question on her face.

“I just - I thought it was a good opportunity.” Anne fiddled with her ring. “To work on our list. You know? I - uh, of course I understand if you don’t want - uh, to do this. I sort of had a vision of carrying you up here,” she laughed and shook her head, “caveman-style. But then, well, I thought we should talk about it.”

“Why do you have these?” Ann was genuinely curious, even if jealousy tugged at her gut. “Who else did you use them with?”

“No one!” Anne’s eyes were wide. “I promise. They’re, uh, they were a gift, if you can believe it. From Tib.” Anne rolled her eyes. “Last Christmas. Some lewd comment about ‘tying Mariana down.’ Which, luckily, I never got around to.” 

Ann nodded, considering.

“I’ll undo this. Forget it, we can - honestly, we can go home.” 

“No,” Ann said softly. “Let’s-” she swallowed. “Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” Anne’s face lit up. 

“Yeah.” Ann brought their lips together gently. 

Anne undressed her slowly, their lips never parting for more than a moment. Ann shivered in the cool air, fully nude across from her still-dressed wife. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Anne to her by the belt loop.

“Take these off,” Ann whispered. 

“I think, perhaps, let’s not use the strap, hmm?” Anne stepped out of her jeans; swallowing dryly, Ann realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “One thing at a time, to start, right?”

“Okay,” Ann nodded. She figured perhaps she should be a little more nervous to be restrained like this, but she felt only the thrill of arousal coursing through her. She was already at Anne’s mercy every time they touched, how different would this be? 

Anne pulled her boxers from the top of the dresser; she must have left them there when she was setting this whole thing up. These were different from the ones she’d worn this morning; these were those boxer-briefs, tighter and perfectly black. Anne knew the effect they had on her wife. She parked herself between Ann’s legs dangling off the edge of the bed, bringing their lips together languidly. Sliding her hands down her chest, Ann eased open the buttons of her shirt and pushed it from her shoulders. In her sports bra and boxers, Anne was an impressive specimen, all sharp lines and coiled muscles. With a contented smile, she let Anne ease her back into the pillows.

“Too tight?” She asked as she tightened the ropes around Ann’s wrists; Ann was surprised to find the material smoother than she’d imagined. It was actually quite nice, so Ann shook her head. “You must tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay? Even just a little.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Ann.” 

“I promise, darling. I will tell you if I’m uncomfortable.”

“Good,” Anne purred, bending down to press her lips to Ann’s wrists in turn, just below the restraints. “I love you so much.” 

Ann met her tender kiss with the hint of a smile; Anne could be awfully sappy in these moments, couldn’t she? 

“You’re delicious, my love,” Anne’s teasing lips trailed across her clavicle. “Spread out like this. A meal just for me. And I mean to enjoy every bite.”

Ann grinned as those lips moved down her sternum, over her breasts, enclosing her nipples. She longed to tangle her fingers in that dark hair, but of course she couldn’t. 

“Pony,” she whined.

“What?” Anne froze, eyes wide.

“Would you let your hair down?” 

Expression immediately softening, Anne smiled and tugged her ponytail loose. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, a crease marking where the elastic had cut into it when it was still wet. She shook her head a few times, then quirked an eyebrow.

“Better?”

“So much better.”

Anne returned to her breasts, one in her hand, one in her mouth. It was exquisite, now with the added benefit of that dark silk brushing against her skin. Ann twisted her hips fruitlessly as Anne descended lower, her tongue poking out to trace the undersides of her breasts, her teeth grazing over her ribs, her lips pressing all the way across her belly. Then she scooted down a bit, lifting Ann’s legs to hook over her shoulders and settling her hands on Ann’s hips.

“Pony!” Ann gasped at the first pass through her folds. She could feel Anne’s grin against her center as she lapped gently. It was too light, not close enough, not deep enough. Ann wanted nothing more than to fist her hands in Anne’s hair and hold her firmly against her aching core, but, of course, she could not. She pulled her arms lightly forward, tugging at the restraints. “Pony, please.”

“Already?” Anne’s voice was smug as she pressed her lips to the insides of Ann’s thighs. “No patience at all, Miss Walker.”

“I need you,” Ann whined, sitting up as much as she could, trying to catch Anne’s eye. “More.” She lifted her hips. “Harder.”

“It’s always 'more' with you,” Anne was still working the inside of her thighs, just far enough from where Ann needed her most. “Always 'more' and 'harder.' Let me spoil you, my love.”

Ann huffed into the sheets, going limp. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to focus only on the sensations between her legs. Not the creak of the bed or the rustle of the sheets or the soft hums as Anne worked. She lost herself to the swipe of Anne’s tongue and the press of her lips, the gentle graze of her teeth and the grasping reach of her arm. Soon her back was arching, pressing her chest upward into Anne’s grasping hand, her hips tilted upward as Anne drew the life from her stroke by stroke; her arms were locked in place, and she almost felt detached from them. She was no longer a person; she was a live wire, an endless series of nerves, a grand piano played effortlessly by the woman between her legs. 

“Yes, yes.” She heard faint mumbling, only belatedly realizing it was her own voice. “Yes, Pony, there. Yes, yes.”

Anne slid a single finger inside, curling gently as she coaxed Ann’s orgasm from her. She could feel that warmth building in her core; Anne’s touch was gasoline to the fire. Anne was playing her perfectly - a tweak of her nipple, the sucking of her clit, that one finger reaching deeper - a string of movements sending her into the stratosphere.

“Yes!” She cried, her back arching, restraints digging into her wrists, pleasure shooting through her body. 

When she opened her eyes, she found Anne between her legs still, sat back on her heels, head cocked to the side and studying her. Ann tilted her chin, needing to feel Anne close. She’d been at the most intimate place on Ann’s body, but, being out of the reach of Ann’s hands, she had felt so far away. Anne smiled and kissed her tenderly, hovering over Ann’s sweat-slick body. 

“How was that?” Anne pulled away, eyes narrowing. 

“Good,” Ann breathed, her breath still a little uneven. “Very good.”

“Good.” Anne’s whole face lit up. “Shall we do it again?”

“Okay,” Ann managed. How could she be aroused again? She certainly was. “Get the -” Ann licked her impossibly dry lips. “Get the strap.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Pony,” Ann chuckled. “Go on.”

Anne kissed her quickly once more before scrambling out of bed with a grin. Ann laughed as she watched her, how excited she got. Tugging off her boxer-briefs and fitting the harness around her hips, Anne was supremely attractive; this was another of Ann’s favorite versions of her wife: poised, primed, ready to give Ann exactly what she needed, just as hard and deep and rough as she wanted it. Anne crawled back between her legs, her back straight as she pulled Ann’s legs further apart, lifting her hips upward. The angle was unfamiliar, exquisite; Ann had never felt so exposed nor so wet. 

“I can’t tell you,” Anne said as she traced the cock through Ann’s arousal, “how insanely sexy you were this morning. Jumping into my lap like that. Bringing the strap. Bending over my desk.” Both women moaned as Anne slid the tip in, one hand wrapped around the base, the other hooked under Ann’s hip and keeping her steady. “Sucking my cock.” Ann whined, at the memory and the sensation of Anne pushing deeper. “Getting me off.” The soft leather of the harness brushed against Ann’s skin. “You wanted me to beg, then, didn’t you?”

Ann nodded; her teeth dug into her lip as she watched Anne start to pull out. Their eyes locked until the intensity overwhelmed Ann, and she closed her eyes, focusing on the pressure between her legs again.

“You’re so hot,” Anne groaned as she pushed forward. “You feel so fucking good. You look even better.” 

Ann whimpered, the pressure in her core consuming all of her brain power. She couldn’t speak, couldn't move, could barely think. She lifted her hips, taking Anne impossibly deeper. And then Anne shifted, hovering over her, and took off. She started a slow, hard rhythm at first, gradually building speed until she was rutting into Ann so desperately the bed shook beneath them. Ann couldn’t control the moans slipping from her body, the urgent cries of “yes” and “Pony” and “more.” Anne was grunting above her, still so far away; Ann longed to feel the press of her slick body. Of course, Anne Lister could read minds, so soon she was bending forward, pressing her face into Ann’s chest. Her mouth was just as relentless as her hips, sucking hard against Ann’s sternum, teeth nipping at her breasts, low growls reverberating across her skin. 

Ann lost herself to the pleasure skating across her body, coursing through her veins, radiating in her bones. Balancing on one forearm, Anne reached between them to strum Ann’s clit; it was as rough and harsh and perfect as the rest of her movements, and soon Ann was hurtling over the edge. She shuddered, trembling and gasping and pulling helplessly at these damned ropes keeping her from embracing the woman above her. Anne was merciless, her hips continuing to pump, sending Ann through a series of smaller orgasms, ripples of ecstasy through her body, until it was all just too much.

“Pony,” she gasped, “stop.”

Anne froze immediately, breathing hard and closing her eyes. She had been just as worked up in the moment as Ann had. Raising her head, Anne met Ann’s gaze with pupils so blown they were almost black; the intensity of Anne’s need almost frightened her. 

“Come here,” she whispered, tilting her head back, hoping Anne would understand her meaning. 

Anne pressed their lips together once, pulling out gently then tugging off the harness, waddling on her knees to hover over Ann’s face. And then Ann was lost again, this time to the pursuit of Anne’s release; her tongue reaching up to flick over her throbbing clit, drawing tight, sharp circles until she heard a long, low moan from above. Anne let out a few choked whimpers as Ann eased her down, then she flopped onto her back, her head down by Ann’s feet. 

For a brief moment, they lay side by side, panting in harmony, and it was lovely. Then Ann saw them from above, her own flushed, restrained, sticky body, next to Anne’s strong and virile one. She felt impossibly cold all of a sudden, utterly alone, useless and thirsty and impossibly tired. A single tear rolled down her cheek, then another, and another, until she was sobbing in earnest. She felt her hands eased from the ropes, then heard the soft pad of Anne’s feet across the floor and rustling in the bathroom. Something soft and cool rubbed across her wrists, then down her arms, all over her sore muscles. Anne’s voice was far away, murmuring softly and kindly. She felt the warmth of the duvet wrap around her body and Anne’s strong arms holding her together. 

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she could understand Anne’s words; the low tones had never faltered, but only now could Ann understand her. 

“It does happen, and I should have been more careful with you, darling. I wasn’t thinking. It’s perfectly normal, and we’ll get some food and some water in you, and you’ll be just right, hmmm? Take your time, my love. This is -”

“What?” Ann croaked. Her throat was so dry.

“There she is,” Anne’s smile colored her voice, even if Ann couldn’t see it. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m not good enough for you,” Ann’s voice shook. “Like a fool and a child, and I’m so tired.”

“Okay,” Anne soothed. “I’m going to remind you, sweet girl, how much I love you. How beautiful and kind and generous and funny and good you are.” Anne’s words warmed her clammy skin. “Can I get you something to eat? I have some water.”

“Water, please.”

Anne shifted to find the glass, and Ann missed the press of her strong body immediately. She drank greedily, feeling like a flower in the desert, sucking in moisture where she could. Anne settled back behind her, leaning against the headboard and holding Ann to her chest, her long legs bracketing Ann's. 

“This happens sometimes,” Anne said softly. “It’s a chemical reaction that - I won’t bore you with it, since you’re already so tired.” Ann managed a smile. “Sometimes, if we overdo it, this can happen. You just need a bit of a rest and some love and some time.”

“You must be sick of me,” Ann whispered, regretting it as soon as she said it. Anne would lash out now; how many times had they had this conversation? Surely Anne was tired of repeating herself.

“Never,” Anne said coolly. “There is nowhere on the planet of Earth I would rather be than right here with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ann dared, needing to hear Anne profess her commitment again. 

“Of course I do.” Anne’s voice was patient and strong. “There is no one that makes me happy the way you do. There’s the sex, of course,” Anne chuckled. “But there’s more than that. There’s the way you look at me across the table when you’ve just given Argus a scrap off your plate. There’s the way your hands move when you’re thinking about drawing, but you don't have any paper. There’s the way our bed is now mostly your bed, and the hundreds of tiny bottles you have lined across our bathroom counter.” Ann chuckled at this, feeling herself return more fully to her body with every word from Anne’s lips. “There’s the fact that everyone in my family seems to like you better than me, and I can’t even blame them because, hell, I like you better than me. And there’s the fact that this morning, when you were tossing that box at me, you said ‘our family,’ because in less than two weeks you’ve made my family your own. Everything that used to be mine is now yours. Ours. God, Ann, that makes me so happy, I can’t even think straight.”

Ann turned over her shoulder to find Anne’s watery eyes; they held each other’s gaze for just a moment, and Ann felt her insecurity wash away. Of all the versions of Anne Lister she loved, this was her absolute favorite. The Anne Lister only she got to see - vulnerable and open and patient and loving. She settled back into Anne’s chest, only now realizing it was pouring rain outside. 

“Are you hungry?” Anne asked. “Or do you want me to keep stroking your ego?”

“Ego please” Ann said cheekily.

Anne’s low voice swirled around them, listing events and looks and dreams and clothes - all things that Ann did that made her wife happy. Ann closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warm embrace of those strong arms, the steady patter of rain on the windows, and the comforting presence of Anne’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> These two have been going at it like rabbits (what's new), and I wanted to explore what might happen when it all catches up to Little Ann. She's made a lottttt of big strides in just about a month, and eventually that's going to take its toll. I think VerseTop mentioned a subdrop a few chapters ago, which is sort of what I'm aiming for here. Not sure if I got it quite right, but that's my basic idea for the ending. 
> 
> I can't tell you how much I appreciate your feedback on every chapter. It's really hard for me to tell on my own what's good and what's not or what y'all like or don't like, but your comments are so incredibly helpful in that regard. Please, keep 'em comin'! And I will do my part, by keeping the Ann(e)s... up to their usual tricks.
> 
> Did you think I'd saying coming? Get your mind out of the gutter.


	40. Saturday Night

Ann had slept for nearly an hour before she stirred with a whine. 

“Is there anything to eat, Pony?” 

Her voice was so small and pitiful that Anne felt her heart break anew. Comforting Ann through her drop had been satisfying and sweet and heart-wrenching in equal measures. She had spent much of Ann’s nap scolding herself for letting it get this far in the first place, not to mention failing to mention this distinct possibility to her fragile wife. Eliza Raine had been particularly susceptible to subdrops; her brain never produced enough serotonin in the first place - pair that with their adolescent libidos and lack of restraint? Poor Eliza, Anne thought sadly; she hadn’t understood what was going on, neither of them had. Anne should have been more supportive of her, gentler, kinder. At the time, Eliza had seemed overly dramatic, and Anne had been impatient and callous. She knew better now, and she was determined to treat Ann with more care.

“I’m afraid not,” Anne stroked Ann’s hair as she spoke. She was still wrapped in the duvet, leaning back against Anne’s chest, cocooned in warmth and Anne’s strong limbs. “We should go back to Shibden.”

“Okay.”

“Do you feel up to it? I could go and bring you something back.”

“No,” Ann said sharply, “don’t leave.”

“Okay,” Anne soothed, “we have to get dressed.”

Ann hummed, but she rose to her feet, a bit wobbly, and stepped back into her jeans. Anne helped her slip back into her bra and shirt, then sat her on the bed while she dressed herself. She stored the strap, the lubricant, and the ropes in the backpack she’d brought, making a note to come over here and change the sheets one day next week. With a smile, she took Ann’s hand and they descended the stairs. 

“It’s raining,” Ann whined. 

“I know, love, but the car is just outside. Only be wet for a moment, hmm?”

“I just want to go home.”

“I know, I know,” Anne rooted through the coat closet and found an umbrella; her heart warmed at Ann calling Shibden home, but she was more focused on getting her there than being sentimental. “Here we are.”

Ann took her hand, and they huddled together, dashing into the pouring rain. Anne opened the door for her wife, hustling her into the dry car before slinging her backpack in the back with the rest of the packages. She slid into the driver’s seat, chuckling as Ann turned on the heated seat. 

“We’ll only be a moment.”

“I want a warm butt,” Ann said firmly.

“I think your butt is already warm,” Anne said seriously. “So warm, you might even say it’s hot.” She winked. 

Ann laughed and swatted her; grinning, Anne drove them carefully home, fretting about the rising water levels. Shibden was prone to flooding, and Ann was so short. She didn’t worry about the car - certainly, Ann’s Range Rover could handle a bit of water - but its owner? Perhaps they should’ve stayed at Crow Nest. Anne reached across for her hand, squeezing gently as they maneuvered onto Shibden property; she had a choice - parking in the dry garage and rushing to the house, or pulling right up to the door and hoping for the best. She pulled into the garage and turned to her wife. 

“Do you want me to drop you at the front door? I can come back for the boxes.”

“You can’t carry all those boxes and an umbrella. You'll get soaked,” Ann scolded. 

“I can try.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither wanting to back down. The rain fell heavily outside, clattering against the roof and echoing in the garage. Anne was grateful she’d moved her Jeep to accommodate Ann’s car when they’d first moved her in. At least they had this option. Studying her wife’s face, Anne got an idea. She jumped out and strode around to the passenger side, opening the door to find Ann’s raised eyebrow and questioning expression. She turned around, leaning forward slightly.

“Hop on.”

“What?” Ann laughed behind her. “Anne.”

“Come on!” Anne curved her arms and reached slightly behind her. “You can carry the umbrella, and you won’t get your little feet wet. I can carry the boxes.”

“Anne.” A sigh.

“Ann.” A lilting tease. 

Another sigh, then Ann’s small arms wrapped around her neck; leaning forward, Anne felt her weight pressing against her back, then her legs hooking around her front. She ran her hands along Ann’s knees and calves; waddling to the back, she retrieved their umbrella, passed it up to Ann's waiting hand, then tucked the boxes under her arms. 

“Can you manage?” Ann asked.

“Of course,” Anne rubbed her elbow along Ann’s calf. “Can you hold on like that?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” Anne pressed her lips to the pale arm near her clavicle. “Ready?”

“I guess,” Ann sounded nervous.

“Just hold onto that umbrella, hmmm? Even if we get wet, we won’t melt.”

“Speak for yourself, Dr. Lister.”

With a laugh, Anne swung open the side door, plunging them into the storm. The water was fairly high, and Anne was soon soaked nearly to the knee. Poor Ann would’ve been swept away, she thought. The umbrella kept their shoulders dry, more or less, and Ann laughed brightly as Anne waded through the river that had taken up outside their door. It was rather miserable, to tell the truth, but Anne never would. She would gladly carry Ann Walker though rushing water, burning flames, or swarming locusts. Finally, they reached Shibden’s entryway. Anne deposited her wife gingerly, tugging at her own shirt, now waterlogged and suctioned to her skin. She caught Ann’s eye - she was almost totally dry. Anne’s mouth fell open at the injustice of it.

“Ohhhh, poor Pony,” Ann laughed, “you go straight upstairs and get out of those wet clothes. I’ll find us something to eat.”

Anne nodded, making for the stairs.

“Marian!” She called loudly. Her sister’s disgruntled face appeared at the top of the stairs. “Ann and I will not be down for dinner.”

“What?” Marian squawked. “You’re in charge of cooking.”

“That’s tough, I guess,” Anne brushed past her. Annoyance compounded with her wet clothes and growing hunger; she was not in the mood for this. 

“That’s real nice, Anne. Always leaving me to pick up the pieces, while you’ve been out half the day, in the middle of a thunderstorm,” Marian was ranting properly now. Anne paused outside her bedroom door, closing her eyes. “We had no idea where you were, what you were doing, if you were dead or alive.”

“Marian.” Anne said sharply. “I haven’t got time for this. Ann isn’t feeling well, alright? Can you shut your bloody trap for once and let me do what’s right for my wife?”

A tense beat. Anne almost retracted her words, but Marian spoke first. 

“You don’t have to be so harsh all the time,” Marian’s voice cracked. “You could’ve just said that, instead of shouting at me.”

“Marian,” she sighed, “come on. I’m soaked to the skin. I’m hungry. I’ve got all this stuff. I’m - come on, don’t be upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Marian’s chin quivered. 

Ann’s pale face appeared behind Marian; she gave Anne a meaningful look. Anne sighed again, and then she did the unthinkable. 

“I’m sorry, Marian,” she said through gritted teeth. “Would you mind making dinner tonight? Ann is not feeling well, and I’d like to be with her.”

“Okay,” Marian said softly, turning and almost running into Ann. “Hope you feel better,” she said genuinely before trotting down the stairs.

Anne huffed and went into their bedroom, dropping the wet boxes onto the floor and stripping out of her clothes. She heard rustling behind her, then Ann’s bare breasts pressing into her back; she exhaled, running her hands along the pale arms circling her waist. Ann trailed kisses along her skin, and Anne released the tension in her shoulders. The guilt from the afternoon, the storm, Marian’s impertinence - it had all built up to make her rather grouchy. As always, Ann brought her back to earth.

“Come on,” Ann whispered, “let’s get you warm.”

Anne turned around, letting Ann lead her back to their bed and slipping under the covers after her. They cuddled together, the sheets and blankets pulled up to their chins; the heat from their bodies warmed Anne significantly, and she resisted the urge to slip into fresh clothes. In her past life, Anne would’ve balked at eating and snuggling and laughing without any clothes on; she preferred to be covered up. But here, with her future wife? She felt like Eve in the garden, totally unaware and unashamed of her nakedness. Quirking an eyebrow and settling against the headboard, she surveyed Ann’s choice in dinner - crisps, fruit, chocolate, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Two water bottles sweat on the nightstand.

“What?” Ann laughed, tearing into a bag of crisps. 

“You need actual food, my love.”

“There are sandwiches right here,” Ann said knowingly, taking a bite. Her words were muffled: “peanut butter has protein.”

“I’m sure,” Anne grinned and popped an orange slice into her mouth. 

For nearly an hour (forty-three minutes to be precise, which Anne always was), they laid in bed, munching and laughing and recovering. Ann leaned against her chest, laid her head in her lap, sat across her thighs; it wasn’t sexual, even though they were both naked. It was just familiar - intimate - comfortable. Anne couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this at-home in her own body, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d let a woman sit in her lap without even attempting to have sex with her. Was she going soft? Anne wondered; had she lost her edge? But then Ann flopped onto her side, her head on the pillow and her arm tracing shapelessly across Anne’s belly, and Anne found she didn’t mind. Perhaps she was soft. Perhaps she’d traded in her edge for the twinkle in Ann’s eye, the enchanting melody of her laugh, the warm comfort of her touch.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, watching that onyx ring moved across her stomach. 

“Do tell.”

“I think we should get married in a church - just a few people, your sister and mine, Aunt, Father, Catherine, if you like. Then we should have a grand party here for the whole of the tribe, the blokes at work, anyone else we want to make desperately jealous.”

“Okay,” Ann’s entire face lit up. “When?”

“Well, I’d need some time to get the estate how I want it.”

“Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Anne considered. “Might be bad weather.”

“How about Easter? Late March?” 

“Perfect,” Anne leaned forward, caching Ann’s lips with a grin. 

“Now, darling,” Ann straightened, and Anne’s eyes drifted to her breasts for a moment. She inhaled, reining her desire in. But, Good Lord, she couldn’t resist a look. “Pony.” Ann’s tone turned stern. Anne looked up sheepishly. “Thank you. Now, I bought you some clothes, and I’d like to see them on you.”

“Would you?” Anne bit into her sandwich. “What’s in there?”

“Three shirts, a few ties, two pairs of pants, and some boxers.”

“What if something doesn’t fit?”

“Anne Lister,” Ann scoffed, “I reordered this entire room, by myself, when our furniture came. I looked through all of your clothing. I know what sizes you wear.”

Anne laughed and shook her head. She should know better than to doubt her wife. Ann nudged her with her knee, tilting her head to the pile of packages on the floor. Anne clicked her tongue and got out of bed. In the first box she found the pants: one pair a deep burgundy, the other a crisp royal blue. The quality was first-rate, of course, but Anne couldn’t help feeling a bit of hesitation at the colors. She was so comfortable in her blacks and deep greys. The second package held ties: green and dark purple and pale pink. Her stomach twisted; wouldn’t she look like a cartoon character in this? It was so much easier to hide in black. Then there were the shirts, all white and crisp and impossibly soft. Anne laid all of these out on the bed under Ann’s watchful eye, then tore into the final package: boxers. There was bright green, deep pink, a pattern of birds in flight, thin blue and white stripes, and all of them boxer-briefs, which she knew Ann preferred her in. Anne looked up, shaking her head at her wife, who was absolutely beaming with pride.

“You bought all this for me?” 

“Of course,” Ann lifted on her knees, wrapping her arms around Anne’s neck and kissing her softly. “Purely selfish. I just thought how dashing you would look in color, and I couldn’t wait for the stores to open.”

Anne grinned, shook her head again, and studied the clothes before her. The care Ann had taken, not only in ordering these and spending money (rather a lot based on the quality), but in finding pieces that Anne would be comfortable in, that fit her style. No one had ever supported her, accepted her, like this. She looked back up, pushing down the lump in her throat.

“Where shall I start?”

“Let’s see,” Ann tapped her lip as she thought, “let’s say these,” she held up the boxer-briefs with the birds, “and the burgundy pants and the green tie.” 

Anne nodded, ripping open the plastic surrounding each item, stepping into the briefs, which fit marvelously, then sliding the shirt over her shoulders. Ann sat up again, buttoning the shirt for her; was there anything more erotic than this? Ann’s dainty fingers, her breath hot against Anne’s throat, the look of concentration and pride on her face. Anne kissed her again, unable to resist, then broke away to step into the pants. Of course, everything fit perfectly; Anne should have expected nothing less. She flicked up her collar and hooked the tie around her neck, aligning it evenly. 

“Want to learn how to make a Windsor knot?”

“Yeah,” Ann’s eyes lit up.

“Look here,” Anne slowed her hands in this familiar process. “See? And then here,” she made the second pass through the loop, “one more time,” Ann’s eyes were wide as she followed along, “and then right down through the center.” 

“You make it look very easy.”

“Practice,” Anne pecked her lips and stepped back, spreading her arms wide. “Will I do?”

“Oh, Pony,” Ann exhaled. “Yes.”

“Wipe your drool, my love.” Anne tugged at the tie, loosening it and flicking open the top button of her shirt. 

“Do the blue pants next,” Ann breathed, a blush rising up her bare chest to her neck. 

“Surely, they fit the same as these,” Anne was ripping open the rest of the plastic, getting ready to put away her new clothes.

“Put the blue pants on.” 

The low tone of Ann’s voice surprised her, so she complied. Anne shucked the burgundy and replaced them with the blue, slipping her tie off and raising an eyebrow. Ann held up the light pink, looped it around her neck, then attempted to tie it. She fumbled, biting her lip and blushing. Grinning, Anne covered her hands and finished tying it.

“Satisfied?” Anne purred, turning slowly so that Ann could see the entire outfit. 

“No,” Ann said softly. 

“Why not?” Anne furrowed her brow.

“Act like you just go home.”

“What?”

“Here, um” Ann bundled all the clothes into a heap, “put this somewhere.”

“Let me go hang it up,” Anne said gently.

“Okay,” Ann nodded, “then, um, then come in here like you just got home from work.”

“Are you sure, Adney?” Anne searched her face. She could tell her wife was more than a little excited, but she didn’t want to push her too far. 

“Yeah.” Ann’s eyes were so clear, so resolute and sure; Anne couldn’t deny her. 

She made her way into the closet, hanging everything neatly, then slipped on socks and an old pair of brogues. If Ann wanted to play this game, Anne would commit. She cracked her neck, set her shoulders, and sauntered back into the bedroom. She leaned against the doorway, licking her lips and fixing her wife with a smoldering look. 

“Honey, I’m home.”

Ann’s face lit up, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Anne made her way, slowly, to the bed, dipping her head to kiss her wife gently. Ann’s hands tangled in her hair, attempting to bring her closer, but Anne pulled away, turning and sitting on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs, ankle to knee, and started unlacing her shoes. 

“I’ve had a hell of a day,” she said. Ann’s soft breasts pressed against her back. “You wouldn’t believe how glad I am to be home.”

“I missed you,” Ann breathed in her ear, darting her tongue out to swipe at the shell of it. “I spent all day wishing you were here.”

“And what did you do about it?” Anne was now unlacing the other shoe, reveling in the press of Ann at her back, the gentle arms sweeping across her torso.

“Thought of you.” Reaching forward, Ann pulled her tie loose, unfastening the button at her throat and tugging at her collar until her lips met Anne’s neck.

“Did you touch yourself?” Anne tilted her neck, granting Ann more space. 

“What if I did?”

“Show me,” she husked.

“What?”

“Show me.” Anne swallowed. “What you did while you thought of me.”

Ann pulled away, and Anne missed her warm body immediately. Turning around, she found Ann scrambling back into the pillows. The sight was intoxicating. Anne put a knee on the bed, frozenly watching her wife’s hand dip between her legs. Ann’s eyes were fixed on her, one hand kneading her breast, the other slipping through her slick folds; Anne licked her suddenly dry lips.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” Ann moaned, grazing her clit. “How good you look in color. How much I like buying you things.” Anne grinned at Ann’s expensive foreplay. “How strong your hands are.” Ann’s own hands were still moving slowly, barely teasing her entrance, slipping lightly over her clit. “The way you kiss me. The way your mouth tastes.”

Anne couldn’t resist any longer. She dove forward, crashing her lips into Ann’s, settling between her spreading legs, and cupping her face in her hands. Ann tugged at her shirt, slipping underneath and trailing across her back. Pulling away, Anne ripped her tie off; frantic need took over whatever roles they were playing. Ann’s hands set to work on the buttons of her shirt, and Anne focused on her trousers. She rolled out of bed, fumbling and hopping to get the pants off, drawing giggles from her wife. Anne shot her a look, then laughed herself before shucking her boxer-briefs. Descending back onto Ann, she wrapped her arms under that pale form, pressing their bodies together. It felt like it had been ages since they’d been like this - just themselves, close and desperate and in bed. 

In fact, if Anne really thought about it, they’d been so caught up in that blasted list, they hadn't been connected in that most intimate of ways in over a week. They’d rutted against bathroom walls and in the car and all over the chaumière. Anne had laid it down in her office, at Crow Nest, in the Records Room off the parlor; they’d used the strap and silk ties and bondage rope. But, as Ann’s hands tangled in her hair and her tongue slipped into her mouth, Anne realized they hadn’t made love properly since their new bed arrived. Sure, everything they did was a form of making love, of course. No matter what filthy words slipped out in the heat of the moment, any time Anne touched her woman, she considered it making love. And yet, there was that one position, the one she loved most and used the least, that she considered truly making love. She rarely used it with her past partners, and it had never felt so right as it did with Ann. It wasn’t that they were less connected any other time they were together, and it wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the rough and desperate and hurried romps they’d enjoyed. This just existed in a different realm in Anne’s mind. 

She broke away from Ann’s urgent kiss and traveled across her collarbones, her breasts, her stomach. Slowly, she paid homage to the body that had been through so much lately - held up against a door, tied knots around Anne’s wrists, walked with Aunt around the garden of her new home. On reaching the apex of Ann’s thighs, she pulled away and straightened, taking a moment to appreciate the gorgeous woman who was somehow foolish enough to spend the rest of her life with Anne Lister. 

“What?” Ann said, biting her lip.

“I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” Anne said softly as she pushed Ann’s knee back. “How kind and generous and good.” She interlaced their legs and aligned their cores, hovering for only a moment. “How dumb you are to be marrying me.”

Ann laughed and reached forward to swat Anne on the belly. Anne caught her hand and pressed her lips to her palm. Then she lowered herself, pressing their sexes together in this most intimate of ways. Their twin moans filled the room. Anne bent forward, catching Ann’s lips as she started to grind her hips. The friction was exquisite, the feeling of Ann’s arousal slipping around her own - unparalleled. For several long moments, they moved together like this, Anne bracing herself on her forearms, Ann tracing her hands gently across her back. It was heaven, of course, every single second of it.

“Pony,” Ann tore her lips away. “Please.”

Anne smiled as she dropped her head to kiss Ann’s neck, shifting to snake one hand between their bodies and ghost over Ann’s clit. She eased Ann to her release gently, building slowly and patiently until that pale body stretched taut and soft murmurs filled her ears. The urge to touch herself, to chase her own release, was overwhelming, but she resisted. After a moment, Ann’s shaking hand found her, moving so surely and precisely Anne thought she might cry; how in the world had she found someone who knew and loved and understood her so well? 

“Ann,” she whimpered as her release washed over her, as soft and warm and delicate as the woman below her. After a beat, she rolled off to her side, panting. Ann turned to her, tossing an arm and a leg over her body. “I love you,” she croaked to the ceiling. 

“And I love you,” Ann said softly, pressing her lips to Anne’s shoulder.

Anne shifted to wrap her arm around this tiny, perfect person, sighing in contentment as Ann’s head nestled into her chest. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“Aren’t you going to whip out your phone?” Ann teased. “Or your journal? Write out every gory detail so that you won’t forget?”

“I don’t have much to write,” Anne said honestly. “No need of it. I can remember today without writing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this is gonna be a long note, so strap in. Or skip it. It's your life. 
> 
> The rain section based on "rained heavily all the way home but we had 2 showers tremendously heavy... wading thro' the streets... Marian was literally above her knees. It was quite a river that ran down the middle of the street. The umbrella kept our shoulders dry.. undressed. got into bed as fast as we could & had some warm wine & water" September 24, 1826.
> 
> Ending line stolen directly from Anne to Mrs. Barlow: "I have not much to write. No need of it. I can remember today without writing." November 11, 1824
> 
> Okay, so as I was writing this one, I started to feel like it was a good place to wrap this puppy up. 40 chapters is plenty, and it's about two weeks, like Quarantine. If I were continuing the story, I probably wouldn't have had that smut at the end, because, realistically, Ann would need more time to recover. But it didn't feel right to leave these two lovebirds like that.
> 
> That said, if there's interest, I definitely want to continue with these two. I want to skip forward, though, to their return to real life. In this world, I'm thinking everything is over by August or September; I can't even think that far in advance in reality. So a few ideas I have are: a real date at a restaurant, clothes shopping, Paris, the wedding, meeting Elizabeth, meeting Mariana, Anne's first day at school, Ann getting jealous of some hot student, going to a movie theater, going to a concert, and finishing off that list of theirs. I'm thinking each of these events would be a short run on its own, 5 chapters or something like that. What do we think? Is that interesting? 
> 
> SO for your reading response please answer the following (can you tell I'm a teacher?)  
> 1\. would you be interested in this story continuing?  
> 2\. is it better to keep all these post-lockdown chapters in one story or a new story for each topic?   
> BONUS POINTS: 3. what are you interested in the Ann(e)s getting up to next?


End file.
